


With a Heart of Scars

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: AU, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Dick Grayson is Batman, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, I took the story and changed just about everything, It's Bruce, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, canon character death, we're starting fresh here lads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:29:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26867428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: When Bruce dies there’s a lot of pieces to pick up. Dick has to step into the role of Batman, and try to hold his family together. Meanwhile, fresh from the league, and unsure of his place anymore Damian’s not even sure what a real family looks like. Together the two, and the rest of Bruce’s children slowly take steps to learn what healing is. While they do so, a dark new villain is taking steps to make themselves known in Gotham.Basically, I take Dick and Damian’s time as Batman and Robin and change absolutely everything.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 72
Kudos: 308
Collections: Batfam Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am just so absolutely delighted to share this fic with everyone! I've been working on it for a while now, and thinking about writing it for even longer. And now I have written it as a part of the Batfam Big Bang 2020! 
> 
> I want to thank first of all, the Mods for the bang, you guys are the BEST. 
> 
> Then I want to thank my amazing Artists and Betas, without which I would not have the fic I do today. 
> 
> Those fabulous Betas are:  
> [Auri](https://battoad.tumblr.com/)  
> [Xeina](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/xvivon)  
> [Lucy](https://houser-of-stories.tumblr.com/)  
> [Areth](https://brambleberrycottage.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And my amazing artists:  
> [Scarlet](https://srl541.tumblr.com/post/631276337868472320/music-with-a-heart-of-scars)  
> [Eileen](https://dreamer-247re.tumblr.com/post/631286180188651520/with-a-heart-of-scars-chapter-1)  
> [Leap](https://wingsdingsandpurplethings.tumblr.com/post/631284675053305856/my-art-for-preciousthingsarepreciouss-batfam-big)  
> With Bonus thanks to Cai for the gorgeous blue cover art! 
> 
> Please go check them all out for awesome art and fabulous times. 
> 
> I'll also be embedding the amazing art they created (with permission) to chapters associated with that art, so be on the lookout for some incredible stuff tucked away with the text! 
> 
> And finally some story stuff:
> 
> This is canon divergent, so much so it's basically a full AU! It starts right after Bruce dies/is sent on his trip through time and Dick becomes Batman, and pretty much everything else changes from there on. I've gone through and wholesale changed a of things because canon sucks and I can make it what I want it to be. Basically if it was bad, it probably didn't happen in this universe. Certain bad decisions are not made, more conversations are had, and generally things will be answered as the story progresses so please be patient. 
> 
> Also, the story is focused on Dick and Damian so they'll be the main POV's with some chapters from the other boys and even Steph or Cass. 
> 
> This is a multi-chapter story and I have written about 21 chapters already. Today I am posting chapters 1 and 2 then after that I will be posting a chapter a week probably on Tuesdays, but that might change. I may even double post if I feel like it's moving too slow, we will see.

__

_"You'll never know if you can learn to fly, unless you take the risk of falling"_

_-Dick Grayson_

“As for cats, tortoiseshell’s have the best coloring; I mean, just look at them,” Brown said, waving a fork at Drake.

“Tortoiseshells? I thought you’d be all about black cats, with cute little white paws,” Drake said, making irritating pawing motions with his hands at her.

“That was one time! It’s not my fault Selina has the best cats.” 

Damian listened to the conversation as he worked his way through his yogurt, not eating as much as stirring berries and granola deeper in. He bit back a question about Selina having cats and responses to each of the other’s cat comments. What did adding to the conversation matter at this point? He would not be here much longer, and the butler’s last rebuke still rang in his ears regarding his previous comment. No, it would be best if he held his tongue for now.

Instead, Damian chose to examine those at the table and catalog them. Many of its occupants he’d only met a few days prior at his father’s funeral and were new to him. He had, of course, heard of these people. Mother had debriefed him before he came, and when he had first met Father, the man had done the same.

The butler, Alfred Pennyworth, was seated just to the right of the head, a seat still left open in honor of Father. Damian had gained a healthy respect for the man quickly. Not only did he abide no disrespect, but he had sided with Damian when he had arrived on the run from his Grandfather months ago. And while he was quick to rebuke, he also had done his best to make sure Damian was comfortable. Damian was still not sure why he was so attentive; he had done little to earn any of it. In fact, he was certain that in light of Pennyworth’s personality, Damian did not deserve any sympathy after his initial introduction to the house.

“All bets are off when it comes to her cats; they don’t count in arguments,” Jason Todd said before sipping his coffee.

“Ha!” Brown crowed, slamming her palms on the table in victory. “Jason’s my new favorite.”

Drake glowered. “No, he’s not.”

“Yes, he is,” Brown shot back. “Get your cat opinions straight and you can reclaim your spot. Until then, Jason wins.”

“Since when is this a freaking game?!” Todd spluttered.

Todd was seated across from Pennyworth. When he’d arrived at the table, he had looked as excited to be there as Damian felt, but time and coffee had coaxed a better mood out of him. 

Damian was still not sure what to think about him. He was aware the man held anger towards Father, but he had also come to the funeral and stayed. It was perplexing.

Beside Brown sat Cassandra Cain. If Todd was perplexing, Cain was an enigma. Damian knew very little about her beyond her parentage and skills. She was quiet, which he could appreciate, but had an air of danger around her, and Grayson had declared her the best fighter out of all of them. He would not be letting his guard down any time soon. At the moment, she grinned at the others with a look akin to that of cats Damian had seen, taking pleasure from chaos. 

Between Brown and Pennyworth was Timothy Drake. Father’s third child. Robin. 

Damian did not like him, and he was well aware the feeling was mutual. Much of that animosity was since he had broken the boy’s arm upon their first meeting. He’d been proud then, his bid for superiority in the household a success in taking down the boy. 

And yet, how wrong he had been to feel proud. Damian winced internally at the memory of Father’s reaction. 

The man had been livid. It had been Damian’s first lesson of the different expectations of his Father’s household, which varied wildly from that of his mother’s. And because of these differences, Damian couldn’t help but feel Mother had prepared him for all of the wrong things. 

Not that it was her fault. Damian had a feeling no one — somehow, not even Mother — would have expected the kind of things Father permitted. 

However, it was frustrating, because instead of quickly integrating himself into the family, Damian found himself pushed more and more to the edges of the group, almost more of an outsider than he was when he first arrived. And now, without Father here to tie him to them, Damian felt adrift. 

He wondered if Mother was on her way yet. Because she would, of course, be returning for him. 

With Father gone, there was no reason for him to stay in Gotham. The people he currently shared a house with were his relations in writing only, not by blood, and surely they wanted him gone. They had been obvious enough about that in the two days he had spent here so far. With Father dead, they had lost their reason to tolerate his presence. It was only a matter of time before he was whisked back to his home.

He only wished it would happen soon. He was tired of clashing with them, against their grief and strange ways, and most of all, against the idea that they were so _together_ and he was so apart. 

The conversation at the table broke into actual bickering, snatching Damian’s attention once more. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Todd groaned. “A lion would be an awesome pet. I’d name him Screw You Tim Drake and train him to bite your scrawny butt.”

Damian scoffed out loud. 

It was a mistake, apparently. Brown stopped mid-punch to Drake’s shoulder, and Todd held a fork pointed in Drake’s direction frozen midair. Every single eye was suddenly on him.

Damian scowled, “What?” 

Brown dropped her fist, regaining her composure to smile at him. “Sounds like you disagree on Jason’s outrageous lion idea. Care to share?”

“Tt.” Damian gave his yogurt another stir, “Outrageous is one word for it. A lion does not belong in a palace, let alone a house. Even one of this size.” 

“See, Baby Bat actually has some common sense,” Brown declared. 

Damian bristled at the nickname but before he could object to it, the last member of their party entered the room with a loud and boisterous! “Good morning everyone!” 

Richard Grayson had entered, prompting a series of responses, including _good morning’s_ and calls for his opinion on lions. He took it in stride and shrugged off all questions until he’d filled his plate from food set out on the table and plopped down in the empty chair next to Damian.

This surprised Damian because as of yet, no one had sat beside him, even though he had arrived first. Todd had left a seat between him and Damian when he had arrived. It was this chair that Grayson sat in, and Damian assumed it was to sit next to Todd. 

He was further caught off guard when Grayson turned his blinding smile on him — really, it was too early in the day for smiles so bright. 

“Morning, Damian.” 

Damian blinked at him before answering with a sharp nod. He expected Grayson to turn away from him, but the man did not relent. His smile grew somewhat less blinding, though it did not seem to be Damian’s fault, only a softening look. 

“Did you sleep well?” 

“My sleep was adequate.” 

The man looked at him again, apparently waiting on more. It made Damian want to scowl, but he could feel Pennyworth’s eyes on him, and he did not wish to be kicked out before Mother came. Having to call her and admit he had been ejected would be mortifying. 

“And you?” he asked. 

There was that infuriating brightness back on display as Grayson answered, “Pretty good. It’s weird having the house full again.”

Damian made a noncommittal grunt and turned back to his breakfast, hoping the man would get the hint and move on to other things. It was a conversation he had no part in, having had limited exposure to the house so far. 

Around them, the conversation about lions had continued.

“Are you _kidding_ me? Dick, tell Jason he’s out of his mind for wishing big cats could stay in the house,” Drake called out before deflecting another light punch from Brown. “Steph, _stop._ You’re not even on Jason’s side!”

“I told you he’s my new favorite. So yes, I am.” Brown declared.

Grayson shook his head fondly before winking at Damian. He turned his attention back to the group, “Jason’s just egging you on, Timmy. It’s too early to let him get under your skin.”

“What, am I supposed to wait until after lunch?” Drake asked incredulously. “Oh my—Stephanie, _stop it!”_

Brown snorted. “Never!”

When he was finally finished with breakfast, Damian left both the room and the conversation behind, retreating to his room to change into clothing more suitable for training. He had brought a number of outfits with him when he and Mother had come to Gotham, and Damian had taken them into his father’s house when he’d moved in. Somehow more had materialized, probably Pennyworth’s doing, but Damian preferred what he had brought. 

The top and sweatpants he pulled out were soft from use and familiar to him. There was some weakness in leaning into things that were old and comforting like this, but Damian shrugged off the thought. It was simply practical to use what he knew. This would not chafe or restrict him, and he knew that; he did not know the same for what Pennyworth had purchased for him. 

A crash resounded somewhere down the hall, and Damian could hear voices yelling. Probably continuing the inane lion argument from earlier. 

He had to admit that Grayson was correct in that the building felt odd being so full. Though Damian was sure he did not see it the same way, Grayson did. For him, it was probably a happy feeling to have his family close by for so long. Especially since Pennyworth had convinced everyone to stay for at least a week. 

Grayson was a fool for relying so much on them. To be so enamored with family made one weak. Mother--and Grandfather more so had taught Damian that anyone could turn on you at any time. To react as Grayson had done was opening himself up for innumerable opportunities against himself. 

Even so, Damian could not shake the feeling of being an intruder. 

While he knew the building based on memorized floor plans, Damian had not yet explored it all. He had intended on doing so, however, every time he walked into an occupied room, eyes turned on him like they’d forgotten he was there, and he hated stumbling upon people. So he had begun exploring the cave instead. 

Father had mapped out much of the subterranean system set below the house, and Damian used those to help him explore. No one seemed to mind his frequent long absences, and since no one asked, he continued to spend hours thereafter training. It was peaceful and gave Damian something to do with his energy, as well as a goal to aim towards. Perhaps he could discover other ways in and out of the cave for Mother. 

He moved quickly from his room to the living area containing the entrance to the cave. It was not a long journey as Damian was still housed in one of the guest rooms on the manor’s first floor. Along the way, he almost ran into Grayson as the man was adjusting a tie and rushing toward the door.

“Watch where you are going,” Damian snapped, stumbling back. 

“Oh, Damian, hey. Sorry about that.” Grayson was still fumbling with the tie, the thing looking more like a knotted mess than a proper accessory, “I’m running late and can’t seem to get this thing to tie right, and I didn’t want to bother Alfred and—”

Damian crossed his arms and glared at the man. “Disgraceful. If you cannot manage to dress yourself, what good would you be in the field?” 

Grayson blinked at him for a few seconds, registering the question, “Well, I don’t normally wear a tie, and it’s not even really required. I just want to make a good first impression with the board and staff, and there’s going to be this meeting...” the trailed off, attention drifting up for a moment before it locked onto Damian. “Anyway, you wouldn’t know how to tie a tie, would you?” 

Damian did not. He knew he had seen Grandfather in one, but the day-to-day and ceremonial clothing worn by the League was far different than the American standard. Damian had never thought he would wear a tie, and never bothered asking to learn. 

“The League of Assassins does not follow the American standard of dress.” Damian snapped, “One does not normally assassinate someone while wearing a tie.” 

“Ah.” Grayson started, “Drat. Maybe I can get Timmy to help, he’s coming too. We’ve got even control until we figure something else out.” He scratched his head as he spoke. 

Damian sniffed, “I do not see why you two who are running my Father’s company. I am his heir by blood. It is my inheritance.” 

“Maybe, someday in the future.” Grayson acknowledged, “But the company’s board of trustees wouldn’t take well to a ten-year-old running things. Besides, I told you, we’re all family, and in turn, all rightfully entitled to what Bruce had.” 

“I am not a child. Besides, Mother had me trained in everything I would need to know to take over Father’s empire. I am beyond capable of running things.”

Grayson cut him off, “Sure, but why bother with little things when your mom wants you to have the whole world?” 

Damian knew the words were an insult, even if they were true. Before he could sort out a properly scathing response about his rightful ownership of Father’s company, Grayson continued. 

“Listen, none of it matters right now, the company doesn’t even know Bruce is—” Grayson hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the tie instead of really attempting to knot or unknot it anymore, “gone. All they know is that he’s taking an extended leave of absence and left Tim and I in charge.” 

“Drake is seventeen, hardly old enough to run a company either.” 

“But old enough to co-run with me. He’s also helped Bruce with several things over the years, and the public knows his face,” Grayson countered. “Listen, I don’t really have time to argue about this. We’ll sort out WE later, alright?”

Drake showed up then, dressed as nicely as Grayson was, properly tied tie and all. Grayson brightened, immediately pestering his brother with requests to fix his tie. Damian bit back the argument that had been building in him against their supposed right to be his family. As Drake sighed and began fiddling with Grayson’s tie, Damian pushed past them both heedless of how he bumped the younger man on his way through. 

Damian ignored the elevator that would take him down to the cave quickly and opted for stomping down the long staircase that acted as both a backup and emergency entrance. His fists curled at his sides the whole way down. 

How _dare_ Grayson simply assume he could not manage the company? He had been trained for just such a thing. He huffed; in fact, his training was suited to one who would one day hold the world in his grasp, a company was nothing compared to that except a fruitful training ground. Besides, it was Damian’s by right. He might not have his Father any longer, but he still had his legacy to protect. 

He hoped that some training would soothe the fire bubbling up in his chest. Still, Damian had hardly started into his regular routine when Brown and Cain arrived, speaking of a sparring match. They stopped upon seeing him, though at the very least, neither gave him odd looks. In fact, Brown seemed to animate.

“Damian! Hey there!” she said, hurrying over, her expression open, if not a little mischievous.

“What do you want?” Damian bit out.

“Alfred was looking for you. He said something about wanting to talk about what kind of lessons your tutors had you on?” she raised an eyebrow at him. 

Damian scowled; he had forgotten that Pennyworth had wished to consult him on his previous curriculum. Apparently, he was interested in ensuring Damian’s education continued while he waited on Mother’s arrival. Though Damian could not see the point, Mother would return any day now, and any work Pennyworth put into lessons would be lost. It would be impossible to get him caught up and on the right track by then. 

He scoffed, “My mother hired the greatest tutors in the world to teach me. I will not learn from anyone substandard.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because Alfred’s one of the best,” Brown said. “He raised your dad after all, and he’s been helping Cass catch up on the things she missed.” The girl shrugged, “He’s as good as you’ll get here.”

“Tt, if that is all, I will simply continue as I have with my own studies.” 

He looked Brown up and down with an examining eye and sneered, “And what about you? Shouldn’t you be in school, or have you dropped out because it was too much work?” 

“For your information, I’m doing great in school. I have the rest of the week off because of, well, you know—” she waved her hand around them. 

“What? The universe granted you a break?”

“No, Damian.” Brown sighed and looked as if she were trying not to shake him. “I mean, you know. Bruce.” 

The way she said Father’s name was different than Damian had heard so far. From what Damian knew of Brown’s relationship with Father, it was not exactly a smooth one. Their personalities often clashed, and her tenure as Robin had been the shortest of anyone’s. The few times he had heard her speak of him, it had not seemed flattering. Now, there was grief lining her words, and hesitation in her voice. Something in her eyes said she had been holding back, not just for herself. 

Damian bristled. He did not wish to be pitied or handled with children’s gloves. “It does not seem to me that you need an entire week off, not with how jovial you have been acting of late,” he sneered. “It is as if none of this even matters.” 

It was meant to sting, and he could see the effect of his words immediately. Her eyes widened, and the openness in her stance closed off, her shoulders tightening, hands curling. Damian felt good for a moment, then the memory of her face tear-streaked at the funeral came back to him, and a spike of guilt pierced his chest. 

Still, he would not apologize. She needed to know he did not need to be treated like a child. 

She squared her shoulders, “If you think that, you definitely need to go see Alfred about school and tell him you learned nothing before coming here.” 

Damian had learned plenty, more than Brown ever would, and he was about to say just that. His shoulders squared, hands clenched, but Cain shot him a look that warned that he would not like continuing this fight. Damian had not known his sister very long, but he had learned quickly during a spat with Drake that Cain was not to be messed with. 

“Tt, I do not have time to squabble like this,” he said as a dismissal, then turned on his heel to grab his bag, before leaving the two girls alone in the cave. 

Neither tried to stop him nor continue the argument, for which Damian was glad. His chest felt tight, even as he stomped his way back upstairs. His desire to work out his frustrations was doubled but equally foiled by the fact that he would not be returning to the cave for some time. Not while it was occupied, at least. 

He ignored the request from Pennyworth that Brown had relayed, instead retreating back to his room to flop onto his bed with a huff. Damian lay there for a few moments before the energy inside him forced him back up and pacing. He was bored, irritated, and in desperate need of an outlet. 

His fingers itched to draw. If he could not beat the stuffing out of a punching bag or dummy, then he could draw. Sketch out the thoughts in his head and fill the page until his mind had stilled, and his chest had loosened into something more sensible. It was not befitting an Al Ghul to react the way he had been. He needed to get his emotions under control now, rather than later when he would inevitably explode in a fashion unbefitting either of his birthrights. 

He knelt beside his bed and reached up and under it, into the boards that held the mattress aloft. There, he had tucked the sketchbook he’d brought with him, along with a small case of supplies, pencils, erasers, charcoal, and even some oil pastels. As much as he disliked using the pastels, they were color, and Damian had not been able to bring his paints with him. 

He placed the supplies on the room’s desk with care, and then Damian locked the door. He did not wish to be disturbed while he drew, and he cared little to let anyone know of the hobby. It was likely they would see it as a weakness. A crutch to which Damian fled whenever he was bubbling up with too much---too much of anything really. And he did not wish them taken away from him, no matter how little time he may spend at his Father’s home. 

When he was certain he would not be disturbed, Damian slid into the chair at the desk and flipped the book open, searching for an empty page. With growing dread and the inkling of a memory discarded due to exhaustion, each page gave way to another one filled with art. Some were just warmups. Others were filled with lines, circles, or other shapes. Still, more were blurred with charcoal. Even one or two pages were splashed with color. Not a single revealed itself to be blank. 

Something like desperation welled inside him, and Damian shoved it down with all his might. Al Ghuls were not desperate. They took every situation in hand and controlled it. No surprise was one for long, and they always bounced back. 

Still, he bit back a howl of frustration as he slammed the book closed. How could he have forgotten? How could he have allowed every page to be filled already? 

His mind grasped for another option. Leave and purchase a new book? But he did not know where a store was, even if he did have a small bit of money. He was not allowed to drive on his own, and he refused to ask any of the imbeciles in the house to take him. Not that they would give in to the request. 

But, he needed to draw. The desire was all-encompassing at this point, and it was all he could do not to throw the book and box of supplies. Simply coloring in a finished piece would not do, nor would erasing the lines poured out onto a page. 

He cast his eyes around the room for some source of clean paper and found none. It was sparse, decorated with a bed, desk, nightstand, and lamp. There was even a fireplace, but books or loose paper? None to be found. 

Briefly, Damian considered going up to the library to find the dustiest book he could get his hands on, then remembered his Father’s study. There was a printer in there, and while not optimal, printer paper was far better than cramped doodles in the margins of books. 

With silence born of years of practice, Damian crept once more from the room, his socked feet never making a sound as he moved down one hall, then another, and over to the room Father had used for daily work. 

As far as Damian knew, no one had been in since Father’s passing, and he doubted anyone would care that he was planning to empty out the printer. 

The office was all wood, leather, and warm tones. Two plush chairs rested by one wall that was lined with books, another was taken up by a huge window, and the third covered in pictures. Damian did not recall the photographs from the last time he had been in, but Damian had not spent much time there at all. 

He paused now to look them over, an array of images taken through the years and organized with no real sense of order beyond which part of the wall had space for anything new. 

In one, Father stood, beaming as he had an arm slung across a younger Richard Grayson. Both wore suits, and somehow Grayson’s smile was even larger than Father’s as they held between them what was obviously adoption papers. 

Another featured Todd, far younger than he was now, balanced precariously on a bike, one tooth missing from his grin as he rode towards the camera, arms held out to his sides as if he were showing off. 

Then there was Drake and Brown fighting over a bowl of some kind of dough in the kitchen, both coated with flour and frosting. Brown was in the middle of pressing dough into Drake’s face. Damian snickered a bit at the image. He wished he had been there for that moment. 

Cain was, in many, almost always dancing. She looked ethereal, even frozen in time in the photos. Damian had not known she practiced ballet. 

Then Grayson playing guitar. A Todd of today reading in the library. Drake bent over a desk. Cain and Brown outside by a lake. Pennyworth smiling alongside Father while in the garden. On and on and on, Damian examined the photos. As he did, he felt something tight in his chest, --not his heart, it was certainly not that-- the tightness only grew as he looked over the photos. 

His eyes stopped on a framed photo of the family. Father in a chair with the others ringed around him. Grayson and Todd standing to either side, Cain perched on the arm of his chair, and Drake leaning on the opposite side, ducking away from Grayson as he ruffled his hair. Pennyworth smiled with pride from Todd’s side. The tightness moved from his chest to his throat, like he’d been stung there, and it had swollen thick and hot so that it was hard to swallow.

Damian spun away from the wall, searching for the printer. He all but flew to it, tearing open the bottom tray and lifting all the paper from it. It was almost full, but Damian did not care. It would save him future trips to this room. 

He paused before moving away from the desk. There was another photo there. A smaller version of the same family photo hanging above. Damian scooped it off the desk, tucking it under the paper and close to his side, purposefully not thinking about why he’d taken it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's POV!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Scarlet for the amazing music this chapter and Leap for the fantastic Dick Grayson art! 
> 
> I forgot to mention, each chapter will probably switch between different points of view, mostly Dick and Damian (because that's who this fic is mainly about) but the others will pop up from time to time.

When Dick returned to the manor after his first day at Wayne Enterprises, he was seriously considering quitting. It had felt less like a day of introductions of him and Tim to people they had known for years and more like the Spanish Inquisition.

He had no idea how Tim was still there, but his brother had insisted on sticking around well past closing time. Dick couldn’t really argue; no one was set to patrol again tonight — not for the rest of the week according to Alfred’s edict, so-- it’s not like he’d be missing a chance to warm up or anything. And Dick had felt like there were things Tim wanted to do on his own, both to make his office his own and for Bruce. And Dick wasn’t going to impose on that. Not when he had his own baggage to carry about his dad. 

Setting aside thoughts of Bruce—he’d get back to them later, he promised, and he would, even if it were only late at night when it was dark and he was forced to face them painted across his ceiling by the light of the moon— Dick turned his attention to how eerily quiet the manor was. 

The silence shouldn’t have really been a surprise, even with everyone staying in it. The manor was simply large, big enough for everyone to be off doing their own things. 

Still, they’d congregated on the first floor a lot lately, clumping in the kitchen or on couches with TVs running to keep thoughts and tough talks at bay. It was odd not to hear any of that going on. 

Dick should have gone up to his room, showered the day off, and changed into something comfortable, but the most he did was loosen his tie and set his new briefcase down close to the door to be returned for later. It was nice dropping the thing. Both he and Tim had been given one at their first meeting of the day. A type of welcome present that Dick still couldn’t quite figure out. 

He hadn’t planned on carrying one ever. He’d never pictured himself as someone to carry a briefcase, and the thought of packing documents into it to take back and forth from WE was a foreign one. When he was a kid, he’d often grab Bruce’s and cart it around with him, teasing the man about how serious he was and how old it made him look. So as an adult now, who wasn’t sure if he even wanted to keep up the charade of working in Bruce’s place, it felt wrong. 

He hadn’t wanted to offend, so he’d dutifully packed all their documents and the papers he might need to deal with at home inside and taken it back with him. Still, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be taking it back. 

He poked his head into the living room and then the kitchen, and he found them empty. Where the girls or Alfred were, Dick didn’t have a clue, but he knew right where he’d find Jason. Hopefully, his brother would be able to give him a good feel for what he’d missed during the day. 

Jason had all but taken over the library in the few days he’d been staying at the manor. He spent so much time there, Dick had asked Alfred if Jason had been sleeping in one of the armchairs or window benches. Alfred’s response had been something like, _ “There are rules in this house, Master Dick, that must be followed, and sleeping in a bed is one I do my best to enforce.” _

Dick didn’t find Jason sleeping, but any other person would be at risk of it. His brother was lounging on one of the seats set into large windows at the back of the library. A stack of books that would put any bibliophile to shame rested next to the seat, towering so high it almost reached the beige cushion. He looked like a cat, lounging in the sun and totally satisfied with itself—that is if cats could also read. Jason ignored him as Dick tugged a chair close to sit down, the sun kissing his cheeks and forehead. 

He waited patiently for Jason to finish the paragraph or line or whatever, and when the book was closed against a finger, Dick said, “Hey.” 

“To what do I owe this pleasure? Did Timmy fall down a well?” 

Dick rolled his eyes, “I can’t come to say hello?” 

“Not usually.” 

“Well, that’s what I’m here for.” Dick leaned back in his chair, his eyes casting up, past Jason, and out to the trees visible on the grounds.“I just thought you might want to talk or something.” 

Jason didn’t move beyond raising an eyebrow, “About what?”

He shrugged, “I dunno, life? Books? Your day? Normal stuff.” 

It was weird thinking about it. They didn’t just talk. About capes stuff sure, and back when Jason had been a kid, and Dick had sorted things out with Bruce, they’d talked about lots of stuff. But wasn’t that what all this was about? Reconnecting, trying to find new ground between family too long pulled apart? 

It’s what Alfred wanted. What Bruce would have wanted. 

“Listen,” Dick leaned his elbows onto his thighs, “Things are weird, and if you’re happy to hole up here and catch up on reading that’s fine, but if you’re going to stick around--"

“I’m not. Once this ‘stay a week’ order is up, I’m out.” 

Dick held back an eye roll, “Alright then, for as long as you stay, let’s try to find some common ground. Just talk a bit. Breakfast was nice, right?” 

The book snapped shut and Jason sat up straighter, “Listen, Dick. We’re not buddy-buddy, and I have no intention of becoming that. Alf wants me here, so I’m here. Alf wants group gatherings to be free of bloodshed, I’m keeping up that end of the bargain. But Alfred hasn’t asked me to be your best friend or share my reading time with you. If you want someone to talk to, the house is full of people.” 

He guessed he’d pushed too soon. It was understandable that Jason wasn’t ready to jump right into family stuff. He’d spent so much time skirting them in the time he’d been back. So much time butting heads with Bruce, angry but unsure why. Dick could see it in him. That anger that he’d felt so much when he’d been finding his own independence. It wasn’t the same, of course not, but the feeling was there. Jason wanted his dad, but he wanted to be himself, and he wanted so much more than that, and had no idea how to say it. 

And now? Bruce wasn’t there to fight with anymore. 

It had been Bruce Jason had most of his problems with. He’d worked fairly well with Dick and Tim when they’d come together from time to time across Gotham, and once or twice they’d grabbed four a.m. post-patrol breakfast at Waffle House, exhausted but proud of their work. 

The fact that Jason was here, staying, and actually talking with any of them was progress in itself. It was a sign he might be willing to build bridges. Dick just needed to give him some space, as well as whatever openings he needed. 

“Alright,” he nodded. “I get it, but if you do want to talk or just read together, let me know? I’ll be up here on weekends.” He shot his brother a grin, “Alfred wouldn’t shut up about work-life balance, so I promised him I’d take some ‘me time’ each weekend and read or something.” 

With that he stood, tugging the chair to where it would be out of Jason’s way. He pointed at Jason’s book, the cover decorated with a painted fantasy image, “You know who I like? Brandon Sanderson. I made B buy a bunch of his stuff last time I was here, I’m pretty sure they’re somewhere on the shelves.” 

With that he waved, and moved out of the room, more than ready for that hot shower he’d skipped. 

Dick was halfway to his room before he remembered the briefcase, and the fact that he really should move it or risk Alfred’s disapproval. 

He paused for a second at the staircase leading back downstairs, his feet deciding before his mind did. Dick took two steps back before darting forward, hopping up onto the rail, and sliding down it with a whoop of joy. His stomach jumped to his throat, air pushed his hair back. Dick felt ten again, for the few seconds it took to slide all the way down and hop off, his hands flying into the air. 

“Ten out of ten!” he announced, to no audience. 

Part of Dick wanted to feel silly at being a grown man sliding down a banister, or for cheering at an imaginary stunt. He shoved that part down with the determination that, yes, he was a grown man, and that was all the reason he needed to have fun sometimes. One might age, but that did not mean they had to stop doing things for the joy of it.

He scooped the briefcase up from where he’d left it and slung it over his shoulder. There was a spring back in his step, one that carried him all the way into his meeting with Stephanie and Cassandra, as both girls were on their way into the kitchen. 

“You are really taking this whole CEO thing seriously,” Steph said, pointing at the case. 

Dick shrugged, “Do you know how easy it is to crumple paper?” 

Cass hooked his arm, “Tell us about your day.” 

She led him into the kitchen, along with Stephanie. Dick sat on one of the barstools, setting the briefcase by it, and watched as the two girls dug through the fridge for snacks. 

“Alfred is going to have food ready soon,” he pointed out. 

Steph tossed him an orange, “Now you’re really sounding like an adult. It’s just a snack, we’ll eat plenty later.” 

Dick rolled the fruit between his palms. He did sound old. “If you think I’m boring now, just wait for me to have been on the job for a week,” he told them with a laugh. “The meetings are so dull I thought I’d aged five years in ten minutes.” 

Cass plopped down beside him, a bottle of Tim’s sparkling water in hand. She grinned at him as she cracked it open, “No wonder Bruce always skipped them.” 

“Any chance he could,” Dick agreed.

“Other than meetings, what did you do?” Stephanie asked, taking a seat of her own. 

She’d pulled a bowl of pasta salad out, left over from the wake, and was eating directly out of it with a fork. Dick pulled a face at her, then one at Cass when she reached over, her own fork in hand, and speared some pasta. 

“Don’t judge.” Steph said, pointing at him with a tomato pierced fork, “When you’re hungry, you’re hungry.” 

“Too hungry for a bowl of your own?” 

“I gave you an orange, we’re going to finish this. Carbs are good after exercise.” 

Now that Dick looked at them, he realized both Steph and Cass’s hair looked like it was still drying. It was harder to tell with both in buns and Cass’s dark hair, but Steph’s bright blond was dulled by water. 

“I thought you guys were going to do that when I was leaving this morning?” 

“We did, then we played Mario Kart, started the new season of  _ Bake Off _ , and then we did some ballet. Well, Cass did most of it while I acted as commentary, but she needed a partner a few times, and I had her show me a few moves.”

Cass nodded, “We danced for a while.” 

“Hence, carbs,” Stephanie added. 

“And the orange?” Dick asked.

She shrugged, “You looked like you needed some sugar.” 

Dick wouldn’t deny that. As with much of the day, lunch had not been what he’d hoped it would be. He distinctly remembered the food options at Wayne Enterprises being better when he was ten. 

He nodded. “Well, thanks. And about your earlier question, we were shown the building, introduced to staff, dropped in offices, and handed more paperwork than I ever want to see again.” 

“So the real work starts tomorrow,” Steph said, speaking around a mouthful of noodle salad. 

“Just thinking about it makes my head hurt,” Dick said, then slipped off the bar stool. “And with that, I am going upstairs to shower.” 

“With the orange?” Cass asked. 

Dick tossed it in the air and caught it, “Nothing goes better with a shower than an orange fresh, cool, and straight from the fridge.” 

He waved, and left the kitchen, Steph’s call of “ _ Maniac! _ ” following behind him. 

Dick did in fact enjoy his orange in the shower while he let the heat and steam wash away lingering exhaustion from the day. There was something about using a shower to help step away from work and into reality that Dick liked: it made him feel real again. Like he could drop the act and masks and turn back into Dick Grayson, brother, vigilante, and actual human being. 

He tossed the orange peels in the waste bin and scrubbed at his hair with a towel, before drying off and tugging on shorts and a soft tee shirt, his toes curling into the plush bath mat. He was in the middle of deciding between actually brushing his hair or just running his fingers through it when a light knock came from the door to his room. Dick settled for the easier option and hurried out of the bathroom to open the door. 

Tim stood there with papers tucked under one arm, looking far more energetic than he had any right to be. 

“Hey! You’re home.” Dick smiled, then nodded down at the papers, “I didn’t leave something at the office, did I?”

He shook his head, “No, these are mine. I just thought I’d let you know I made it back.” 

Dick reached out and tugged his brother into a hug, “Thanks, I appreciate it.” 

Tim returned the hug with his open arm then pulled back, “Yeah, you seemed so concerned when I said I was staying and well—” he shrugged, letting the sentence drop off there. 

“You’re a great brother.” Dick beamed, “And, you’ve got a much better handle on all this than I feel like I do. I’m lucky to have you by my side.” 

“Hey, that’s a Robin’s duty.” 

The sudden crystal clear image of Dick back in the uniform hit him like Croc getting in a good hit. He couldn’t get air in his lungs, and his whole chest ached. He swallowed and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“Dick?” 

“Thanks for checking in, Tim, really.” He smiled. “You go grab a shower and we’ll catch up over dinner alright?” 

“Sure, okay.” His brother hesitated. “You alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah, just tired.” Dick waved him off. “Now shoo. Go shower. I need to finish tidying up the bathroom. You know how Al gets if we leave towels lying around.” 

Tim accepted this excuse with a nod and a wave. When he was down the hall, Dick closed his door, and let his forehead drop against it. A sob wormed its way up his throat, but Tim was still too close. He might hear. 

Instead, Dick straightened and moved to sit on his bed, looking into the bathroom with it’s lights still on and the towel still lying on the floor. He breathed, in and out, and in and out. He thought for a moment he’d managed to put a lid back on his grief.

Then, his eyes flicked up and caught his own expression in the mirror. Somehow that did it. The dam in his chest burst and all at once he was crying, his face scrunching up in the mirror, ugly and red and not at all graceful. Once the tears started, he couldn’t stop. The flood turned to sobbing. 

Dick fumbled for a pillow, and pressed it to his face, sobbing into it and trying to just breathe, but everything hurt. It hurt so much he collapsed in on himself on the bed, curling around the pillow, like it could miraculously stop this. Stop the pain bleeding from his eyes and chest. Stop the empty gnawing hole where Bruce had been. Stop the fact that Dick was going to have to pull himself together and keep  _ going _ . 

He didn’t pull himself together for a long while. 

In the back of his head, he knew dinner was being put out and Tim was making excuses for him. That Alfred had set something aside for him and the others were all down there trying to navigate this as well as they could. He knew that they were missing him—his light conversation, and ability to keep everyone smiling. 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t make himself get up and go down there. He couldn’t be the big brother who held them all together right now. 

And maybe that made him selfish. Maybe that made him lose points in the big brother category, but he didn’t care. 

Every time he thought maybe he’d cried himself out, something started the flood again. He sat up, and caught his face in the mirror again, blotched and red, and started crying over the fact that it would make Bruce frown. Then it was the bed itself, the one B used to tuck him into every night. And then it was nonsensical things, a deep yearning, the ache that didn’t seem to stop even though he was sure he’d cried it out by now. 

At some point the tears did stop, but Dick didn’t move. He’d wrapped himself so tightly around the pillow, just his toes tucked under a blanket tossed over the comforter. It felt like if he did move he might crack apart, or break the sudden stillness that had come over him. 

His door eased open, and someone walked in. Dick’s back was to them, but he always knew Alfred by the man’s footsteps. Alfred, unlike the rest of the household, rarely took silent steps. He announced his presence in his confident, but still quiet tread.

The bed dipped as he sat down on the edge, and a hand rested on Dick’s upturned shoulder. They sat that way for a long while. Dick still laying there, Alfred quiet with his hand in place. At last, Dick shifted, sitting up, with his legs crossed, and the pillow pressed to his chest. He leaned over, against Alfred’s arm and sniffed. 

“Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“There is nothing to be sorry about, my boy. I miss him too.” 

Dick nodded, then dropped his grip on the pillow to lean over and hug Alfred, “Thank you, and I’m sorry. Not about me, but Bruce. If I could have done anything to change what happened--” his voice broke, “I’m just sorry.” 

Alfred squeezed him tight, then pulled away with a nod. Dick had a feeling the man had been doing his fair share of crying. Everyone had. 

“Gosh, please don’t tell me I missed your excellent dinner,” Dick said, hoping to lighten things. 

“Stroganoff, but it will reheat.” 

“Between us, I always liked it cold.” Dick grinned, and wiped at the corners of his eyes to catch any lingering wetness. 

“Master Timothy seems to as well.”

Dick chuckled, “I think he just forgets and lets it go cold sometimes. Did dinner go okay?” 

Alfred nodded, “They are doing as well as can be hoped for. Master Damian still seems quite distant. He spent most of the day in his room.” 

That was troubling. Dick was hoping Damian would have started to integrate himself a bit with everyone. He’d seemed so determined to be a part of things when Dick had met him, and he’d thought the kid would be grasping for anything to remind him of Bruce. But then again, grief did funny things to people. 

He felt bad. He hadn’t given Damian nearly as much attention as he’d planned on. If he were in Damian’s shoes he’d probably feel pretty lost, and Dick had hoped to make it clear the kid was part of the family. He’d wanted to be there for the kid to help him navigate losing a dad he hardly knew. He understood what it was to lose a parent, how confusing and painful it was. He couldn’t even imagine spending years wanting to meet his dad, just to lose him right away.

“Think I should check with him tonight? Or can it wait for tomorrow?” Dick asked. He didn’t wait for Alfred’s response, “Tonight, I’ll talk to him tonight. Where’s he at?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time we get Damian and Tim's points of view!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, already breaking all my promises. 
> 
> So yes, this is a day late and yes it does include 2 points of view. I went back over my draft and realized both Damian and Tim's next scenes were short enough they could be combined into one chapter for you guys to enjoy. So while I apologize for the POV hopping within chapters, I think it gives you all something substantial to enjoy this week. 
> 
> Special thanks to Scarlet again for creating the absolutely stunning theme for this fic, and included song in this chapter.

Damian exited the elevator and into an empty cave. He knew for a fact it would be unoccupied for a while after dinner since everyone had declared activities unassociated with it, and Grayson was still holed up in his room. Meaning Damian could finally train in peace. 

He moved to the training mats, set down his water bottle, and began a set of katas designed to help him warm up and focus on the task ahead. 

Gradually he worked his way through them, his body pulling through familiar motions, and the buzz in the back of his mind beginning to quiet. Even after a nap and long hours sketching and staring out his window, he had not quite found the sense of calm he’d been searching for earlier. 

There was a pressure building within him that Damian was not totally familiar or comfortable with. It was not unlike the stress of a mission or a particularly long week of training, but the root was none of those things. There was nothing to stress him out or push him. It was frustrating, not knowing why his head hummed and his chest hurt, why his attention seemed pulled in a hundred different places. 

What he did know was that training dulled it. If he could stay busy, exhaust himself, or fully engage his mind on a task --like exploring the caves-- it made it go away for a short bit. 

So when the elevator opened up and a female voice said, “There you are!” in a tone far too chipper Damian thought he might scream. 

He kept his eyes closed, and focused on the feeling of turning from one pose to the other, his body shifting, fist moving down with his foot.

“You warming up or cooling down?” Brown asked, her voice much closer now. 

Damian grit his teeth as his concentration was fully broken. He straightened and opened his eyes to glare at the girl, “What do you want?” 

“It won’t take but a second,” Brown said. 

She was not dressed for exercise, instead wearing what she had worn to dinner, jeans and a shirt of bright pink with the words “Bring on the sunshine” printed boldly on it. 

“I just wanted to check in with you after this morning.” 

He blinked at her, confused. In Damian’s mind there was no need to reference back to this morning. Unless this was an apology? Though, that was unlikely. Brown had not been the one to end the conversation on an insult. 

“Concerning?” 

She put her hands on her hips and eyed him, “Don’t do that. You know what I’m talking about. Listen, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. It’s hard to lose someone, and that can make people react in weird ways.” She huffed and shifted to crossing her arms, “What I’m saying is, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here, and so are Alfred and the others.” 

“Tt. I am not a  _ child _ . I do not need to talk out my feelings about my father’s passing.” 

“Damian--” Brown started. 

“No.” He cut her off, irritated she’d think him some sniveling baby that would break over the death of one man.

He straightened. “Do not assume to know me. Only fools waste their time crying over the dead.”

“You really shouldn’t pretend like you feel nothing. He was your dad, it’s okay to be upset,” Brown responded, dropping her arms to her sides, before she leaned forward to reach out to him.

Damian swatted her hand away and snapped, “Do not make yourself more of an idiot than you already are. I am not some pathetic child who is brought low by the loss of a man I hardly knew.” 

He sneered, “I do not need the pity of someone who was only given Robin to entice a better option back.” 

She jerked back at those words, her expression one of open hurt. Then, after a moment the expression was replaced by steel. Good, Damian would rather have a fight than sympathy. 

He did not wish to have people assume he could not handle the loss of his father. They did not understand. How could any of them? They had not spent every birthday they could remember fighting for a chance to meet him. They had not crept secretly into their mother’s room to try on a cowl far too big. Nor dreamt of a man who was shadow and power. They had not worked every day to be enough for the man his mother had turned into myth. 

No. He would brook no sympathy from those who had not had to work to get to know him only to have him torn away all too soon. 

Brown started forward, “You can be a real brat sometimes, you know that?” 

“Who's being a brat?” Grayson startled them both by showing up as if out of nowhere. 

Damian assumed he’d come down the stairs, but he’d been so focused on Brown he had missed the man’s approach. He should not have let his guard down like that, even in this setting it could be dangerous. He did not really know these people, even as they professed to be his ‘family’. Any one of them could end him if he were to let his guard down at the wrong time. 

“Oh good, you deal with him. I’m out,” Brown said.

She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, mumbling to herself about ungrateful brats. 

“Okay.” Grayson said, the word slow and confused. “What did I miss?” 

“Tt, Brown interrupted my training.”

“So you made her angry?” 

“She insinuated that I was a child who needed coddling because I lost my father.” he said, and resisted the urge to make Brown’s words true by stamping his foot. 

Damian watched as a number of emotions flickered over Grayson’s face before he nodded, “That’s quite a bit to unpack, and it doesn’t seem like you want to.”

“There is nothing to unpack,” he confirmed. 

“Right, so what do you want to do?” 

What was it with this family and their ability to throw Damian off today? He had not expected that question at all, nor did he really know what Grayson was referring to in the grander scheme of things. He could guess that the man was asking about Brown perhaps. But Damian did not want to address her or anyone one else for that matter. There was only one thing he really wanted in that moment, and that was to take the pressure in his chest and make it go away. 

“I want to finish training.” 

Without any hesitation Grayson smiled, and dropped into a fighting pose. 

“Come on then,” he said with a wave. 

“What?” Damian sputtered.

“You heard me, let’s fight.” 

Damian was baffled. “You are not even dressed to fight. Nor have you warmed up.”

“You wanted to finish training, and I came down here to talk to you. So let’s train and then we talk.” 

Ah. An ulterior motive. Damian could respect that. Grayson  _ was _ giving him what he wanted, and it had been far too long since he’d been able to test himself against someone else. As ill-fitting as he believed Batman’s cowl to be for Grayson, the man  _ had  _ been trained by Father and would make an acceptable opponent. 

He charged forward, hoping to catch Grayson off guard. The man deftly stepped out of the way, and their fight began in earnest. Even for someone dressed in jeans and having lacked any warm up at all, Grayson was an excellent opponent. Damian rarely got a hit in and was on the defensive more than he would like. 

It was thrilling. Damian had not fought someone like this in a while, and losing himself in the bounds of the fight was the exact distraction he had been looking for. His focus was locked on Grayson’s every move, his mind racing to find an opening and learn the man’s style. 

Only Grayson did not fight like the men and women Damian had gone up against before. He was  _ showy _ . He flipped and spun as if this were a dance not a fight. He could pick out different styles in the way the man fought, and yet some moves were totally foreign to him. It would have made Damian angry if it did not fascinate him. 

Damian thought he’d caught an opening, where Grayson swung wide with his left fist, and ducked into it, intending on aiming a blow at his exposed side. He was stopped as his own arm was grabbed and then he was flying through the air to land on his back, the air rushing out of him in an “oof”.

Grayson stood above him, his face split wide in a grin, with an arm held out. “That was fun.” 

“Tt.” Damian clicked his tongue and ignored the hand. 

He pushed himself up and stood, examining the man before him with a wary eye. A small bud of respect for his skills had grown over the course of the match, but that did not mean he trusted him. If anything, he was more wary now that he knew what to expect. 

“Well?” Damian prompted, stepping past him to retrieve his water. “Stop wasting time and tell me what you wished to discuss.”

He scooped up the bottle and took a long sip. He was thirstier than he’d thought a sparring match would make him. 

Grayson followed him, and settled on one of the benches, patting the open space next to him in an invitation for Damian to sit. Cautiously he did, setting the bottle beside him.

“I wanted to check in with you.” 

_ ‘Not this again’ _ , Damian thought. He bristled, preparing to set into Grayson much like he had Brown earlier. The man held up a hand to stop him. 

“We don’t have to talk about Bruce. That’s obviously a touchy subject right now, and not entirely what I wanted to talk about. Alfred said you spent most of the day in your room even though just about everyone was home. Is there any reason you’ve been avoiding us?” 

“I do not see the point.” Damian shrugged.

“Of my question?”

He rolled his eyes, “No, you idiot. In engaging with people who I will not be around much longer.” 

Grayson sat up a little straighter, a frown pulling his lips down. Damian found it an odd expression for a face he was already so used to seeing carry a smile. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Do not be a fool, Grayson, you know what I mean.” 

Damian was getting angry, that odd feeling worming its way back into his chest and mind. He’d been happy to shed it for the few minutes they’d sparred. To have it back so soon was infuriating. And confusing. Was Grayson so blind that he did not realize Damian would be leaving soon? That he had no place in his father’s house with his only tie gone? What did the man think, that he would simply exist there, with nothing holding him in place?

“No,” Grayson said, slowly, the frown deepening, “I don’t. I think we might have some expectations mixed up. Tell me, Damian, where do you see yourself in the next few days or even weeks?” 

“Is it not obvious?” he snapped. “Mother will retrieve me soon enough and I will return home with her. And so, I do not see the point in keeping up this charade. You all do not wish to have me clogging up your lives and I have no place here without Father.” 

The words twisted something in his stomach. Sharp and painful. Why did Grayson even care? Was this some test? Or a cruel joke? 

He realized with a start that he was not ready to return to Mother. Even without Father here, there were wisps of him everywhere. Ghosts of history clinging to the walls and people that inhabited his house. And it was all Damian had left to know him by. 

But he did not belong here, no one wanted him here, and Mother was coming. No matter what his desires were, she would retrieve him and that would be it. There was nothing for Damian to picture when he looked ahead. 

He stood, with a motion so sudden the water bottle went tumbling off the bench. The lid snapped open and water poured out onto the floor. Damian glared at it and then turned, intent on storming off, at least able to still choose who he interacted with. 

“Damian, wait,” Grayson called. 

When Damian did not stop the sound of footsteps hurried to catch up with him. Grayson pushed ahead, and stopped in front of him, his expression pleading. 

“You didn’t let me tell you what my expectations were.” 

Damian stopped, crossing his arms, his gaze anywhere but on the man before him. 

“See, I figured you would stay. I assumed it, and I’m sorry if that was a wrong assumption. If you want to go home with your mom that’s fine, but I need you to know you have a place here. You’re family.” 

“Tt.”

“You are, even if you won’t admit it yet.” His tone was firm, then softer, “You’re my little brother, and you have every right to stay here. If you want to.” 

“And if I stay?” Damian asked, at last raising his eyes to meet Grayson’s. “What is your plan for me?” 

Grayson ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have a plan for you, Damian. Honestly I’d just thought, well I don’t know what I thought. That you’d stick around and be a normal kid?” 

That was enough to make Damian roll his eyes and move to push past the man. It was obvious by his statement that he did not want Damian there. To want him there, he would have a use for Damian. A goal, plan, a desire. Even if that plan were to warp him away from his Mother and Grandfather’s teachings and turn him against them. 

If he had no plan this was just...he did not know. Everyone had a plan for Damian, and the thought that Grayson did not was unsettling. 

“Hey wait,” Grayson stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.

Damian shoved the hand off, but did not move forward.

“Everyone has a plan. What would you expect of me if I stayed? That I would continue to sit in my room with no goal? I came here to learn from my Father and advance my skills. I will not let those atrophy simply because you have no foresight.” 

He raised his chin in defiance, “Or is this some plot to keep me from my mother? To ruin her plans?” 

“What? No, I just told you if you want to go home to your mom you can. I could even give her a call, I’m sure Bruce had contact information somewhere. That’s not at all what I meant.” Grayson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

“I’m not good at this. Listen, Damian, your dad took me in when I lost my parents, and you just lost one of yours. If you wanted to stay and get to know the people who were a part of his life, and get to know him through them, I’d be happy to be that for you. I know the others would too.” 

He scratched his head, uncertain not of his offer, but perhaps in the way it had been worded, then shrugged. “And if learning his skills is so important to you--”

“It is the only reason I came,” Damian told him, tone firm.

“Right, well if you want to learn about how he fought and what he did in the field I’d be happy to teach you. I spent the most time with him, and no matter what you think of me taking up his legacy I can at least show you what he taught me.” 

“Will you allow me to assist you on patrol?” Damian asked. “Training is worthless without field experience.” 

The man crossed his arms, “Not yet--”

“Then--”

“No, listen.” Something in Grayson’s tone warned Damian that this offer might be rescinded if he did not, so he snapped his jaw closed. 

“None of us started out patrolling right away. If I’m going to teach you, I’m going to teach you the way Batman showed me, and you’re going to learn more than just a few new moves. We’ll talk about detective work and Batman’s cause. You can’t learn from him if you don’t follow his rules, got it?”

Damian’s brows furrowed, “And if I believe my way is correct?” 

“That’s what all our work here at home will be for. To help us figure out what’s right and wrong and what works and which way is correct. Who knows, you might teach me a thing or two.” The man shrugged. 

“Can I be Robin? Once you have deemed it acceptable for me to go into the field?”

Grayson shook his head. “Tim is Robin. We’ll have plenty of time to figure something out for you. Batman can have more than one partner.” Grayson’s lips twitched up in an almost-smile, “Maybe even a Flamebird.” 

Obviously the name held some significance to Grayson, but Damian’s attention was on the promise of training, of going out with Batman eventually. Of learning about his father.

“I have spent my entire life training.” He said, “I will prove a better partner than Drake sooner than you expect.” 

Now Grayson did smile, and laughed, the noise a light, quick, sound. “That’s not what I said at all. I know you’ve been trained, and trained well. You proved that tonight.” 

Damian tried to ignore the warmth in his chest at the praise. It was cut off by the memory that none of this would happen if Mother came for him soon.

“And what of my mother?” 

The man considered this question. “Do you want to stay? Learn from us, and give us a chance to be your family?” 

Those were different questions, and yet Grayson had made them sound like the same thing. Made both ideas sound right. 

“I want to learn,” he confirmed. “No matter how long that takes.” 

“Then you stay as long as you want to.” 

~

Tim had not thought it was going to be easy to integrate himself into working at Wayne Enterprises. Especially after the first day when he and Dick had basically been looked on as incompetent. But something had risen up in him after that, and he’d quickly taken control of the situation. It didn't hurt that Lucius had their backs in all of this, and had stepped in to help where he could.

Still, Tim's knowledge and skills had already reshaped the board's opinion of him, and he knew for a fact that Dick had made similar progress. Together they were making a great team, like Batman and Robin but in business and Tim was thriving. 

Well, kind of. Work gave him something to devote his energy to. It gave him more than just school or old case files to focus on, and it gave him a place to go that was away from the Manor. Tim knew he was avoiding the house and thoughts of Bruce, but who could blame him? It wasn’t like the rest of the family was handling things any better. 

Dick was similarly overworking himself by piling his schedule high with things like training Damian, coordinating with the Birds of Prey to planning future patrols, and work. Jason was holed up in the library and snapping at anyone who came close. Cass was talking about leaving, going to Hong Kong or someplace like that, and no one was sure if she was serious or not. And Damian, well Tim didn’t know the kid well enough to determine how he was dealing with things, but he had so much Bruce in him that Tim’s best guess was that he was repressing it all or pretending things were fine. 

And they weren’t. But Tim wasn’t going to think about that. If he did he’d lose focus and his mind, probably. 

He wasn’t really sure. He hadn’t given himself time to think or process. It was all at the back of his mind, pressing and pushing against the wall of work he’d thrown up against it, and he knew sooner or later the wall would crumble and he’d have to deal with it. But not now. Maybe he’d figure out how and then he could, but not now. 

Now he had a meeting to attend. 

The meeting dragged on, as did the two after it, a slew of paperwork, and by the time Tim was sent designs for a proposed restructuring of the R&D department his eyes were starting to glaze over. The meetings paired with the fact that Tim quite simply had not been sleeping lately had sapped any energy he’d come in with. 

He left the pdf file sitting open on his desktop and went in search of coffee. 

Sometimes it was nice to take the long way down to the coffee shop on the building’s first floor, and today Tim found himself doing just that. He paused at windows and enjoyed the sun filtering in, while watching people hurry by on the street below. Then slowed at doorways to copy rooms and chatted with staff. He even took the stairs part of the way, just to make sure he was still moving. 

When he returned with his coffee he felt refreshed, and the warm smell of his drink helped his brain lock back onto the task at hand. For good measure, he pulled out his headphone case and unzipped it before staring down at them. They were Superman styled ones, blue and red with his symbol plastered on each ear. They'd been a gift from Kon, ironic at the time, and now? Tim swallowed back a thick knot in his throat. How many times over the past few days had Tim wished he could go to his friend and talk out his grief only to have that feeling doubled? He reached a hand out to brush it over the plastic and had to blink away mist from his eyes.   


He zipped the case shut, and fumbled in his drawer for his extra set of earbuds he knew would be there. These were safe, plain with no adornments beyond the Wayne Enterprises logo, and simple. He plugged those into the computer and stuck one each in his ear, still eyeing the black case sitting on his desk. 

Work. He needed to work. 

He put on a playlist designed to help him focus that Cassie had sent him, and the pain in his chest eased just a bit. He still had friends. Still had family. Still had people to help him through this if he'd let them. Though, he wasn't sure he was ready for that just yet. What he needed now was his head empty of thoughts and memories so he could breathe again. 

It was easy to lose an hour to going over the form, making changes, and adding notes. Somewhere along the line, the background noise changed from the playlist to a more peaceful coffee shop setting with rain drizzling in the background. It wasn’t too stark a change, but it was enough to pull his attention off his work and make it drift onto other things. 

Somehow, Tim found himself staring out the window in the office, and then all too soon he was resting his head on his desk, against pillowed arms, thinking about how tomorrow night he and Dick were going to head out as Batman and Robin for the first time since way back when they’d been partnered up after Bane had broken Bruce’s back. 

He wondered what it would feel like now that Dick was Batman permanently? They’d made plans, worked out patrol routes, and even set up new channels to keep in touch with Oracle, so they were about as prepared as one could be. But still, it was going to be different. Just how different was to be determined. 

A hand on his shoulder shook Tim awake.

He pulled one arm out from under his head and swatted at the hand before replacing it, and turning his face away from the interruption. 

After another second someone was pulling the earbuds out of his ears and Dick’s voice came clearly. “Wake up, Tim. We’re going home.”

Home? No, he had work to do. 

Tim shifted, and lifted his head to blink at his brother. “No,” he said, slowly, his brain catching up to what was going on, “I’ve got a meeting, I think.” 

“Cancelled. Tragic, really. Your cat died.” 

He furrowed his brows at Dick and frowned. “I don’t have a cat.” 

“Not anymore, you don’t.” Dick’s voice was chipper as he pulled Tim up from the chair. 

Tim had enough time to scoop his phone off the table and grumble, “Don’t sound so happy about it.” 

His brain had finally reset itself and before they left Tim stopped to shoot a glare at his computer, now firmly sleeping itself. 

“Traitor,” he mumbled, the door closing behind them. 

“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” 

“Not you.” Tim pulled away from Dick and rolled his shoulders.“Youtube’s autoplay. It put on relaxing background noise when I specifically wanted something to keep me awake.” 

Dick laughed at that, and hooked his arm between Tim’s. “It and I knew you weren’t getting enough rest it seems. Come on, Al’s here and we don’t want to keep him waiting.”

He was tugged along through the building, down the elevator, and out the doors, more willing than the front he was putting on. He was tired, and maybe the middle of the day was the best time to sleep, but there were far less shadows right then than could be seen at night. 

The car ride was a haze of half finished conversations and then Tim was home, falling face first onto his bed without even pulling off his socks. He grabbed a pillow and folded himself around it before letting sleep take him again. 

Tim dreamed of fire. Of it’s light flickering and painting the walls of a cave red. Of the fire burning away in the center of a room so large it was almost impossible to find a wall. And there, at the back a lone bat symbol rested, carved in the stone, black and burning as the fire lighting it. 

The image lasted long enough to sear itself into his mind before transforming into a bullet that zig zagged through the air. It pierced Tim’s heart, but strangely caused no pain. It sent him falling back and back and _back_ into darkness.

He landed in water, all of it flooding around him and swirling to drag him down again. He struggled to surface, but the water was thick, like some kind of gel that kept getting more and more viscous as he tried to escape it. His lungs burned, and arms ached with the effort to escape, before at last his head broke free of the gelatinous fluid and he sucked in air.

Above him stood a ring of people, heroes? Villains? Tim wasn’t sure as they loomed, tall and imposing figures set to stand judgment over him and his crimes. His errors, his lack of determination. The figures morphed, fusing into the familiar silhouette of Ra’s Al Ghul, who now towered over him, his face grave. 

“Why are you wasting your time, Timothy?” he asked, “On such trivialities as running a company? You have more important work to accomplish.”

“What do you mean?” Tim asked. “What work?” 

But Ra’s warped, changing now into a huge black expanse, it’s ends scalloped and twisting over and over until it was Batman, wrapped and made of shadows. Tim’s heart soared seeing him alive. He was real, there, a solid figure that Tim could touch. 

He ran forward, tripping over his feet in his rush to get to his dad, and then before Tim could reach him, Batman burst apart into a hundred bats, all diving towards Tim ready to rip and rend and-- 

He shot up in bed his heart racing, a blanket tangled around his legs. His room was dim, lit only but the sun as it crept towards the horizon, the only sound around him his ragged breaths and the far too loud beating of his own heart.

A dream. It had been a dream. 

A dream that had settled in the back of Tim’s mind like peanut butter coated one’s throat. Sticky and there, that bat symbol carved into stone. He shivered, and ran a hand through his hair as his breathing slowed. It had only been a dream. Right?

He glanced at the clock on his bedside table, it was just after five. He had a little time before dinner, maybe. There was something odd about that cave. And what were dreams if not the mind’s way of trying to sort things out? 

Tim pushed back the most sensible answer to that. If he was thinking properly, he'd admit the dream was his brain attempting to grieve via the only outlet Tim was letting it. But he didn't want to be sensible right now. He didn't want his dad dead and gone forever like so many others. He wanted to fix this. To change things. To re-write this story how he _needed_ it to go. 

So maybe his brain was telling him he had missed something. Seen some news article or clickbait online that pointed to--he had no idea. Which was exactly why he needed to investigate. Not because he was suddenly scrambling for the smallest glimmers of hope, but because he needed to know. To confirm it had been some kind of article about new bats found in Argentina or something. 

He swung his legs off the bed and stood, considering where he would do his research. The last place he wanted to work was in his room. He wasn’t sure why, maybe it was Alfred’s many lectures on attempting to keep up a proper work life balance finally sinking in. Speaking of Al, he had promised him he wouldn’t work on anything vigilante related until tomorrow. This was tangentially related to that, and he really didn’t want to explain his strange reasoning if the man caught him at the cave’s computer. Jason was holed up in the library taking that spot off Tim’s list, and Damian was sure to be skulking around the manor somewhere, meaning he’d need to be careful wherever he picked. They were still in a weird place, and the last thing Tim wanted today was a heart to heart. 

Bruce’s office hadn’t been used since he’d--since the funeral. Tim had been keeping out of it, and he knew Dick had been skirting the room even when they’d both brought home work. So it was probably empty, and safe from siblings who might ask too many questions. 

Tim tucked his laptop under his arm and set off for Bruce’s office. 

He opened the door to the office, stepped inside and froze. For half a second he thought Bruce was there, seated at his desk and working. Then the dark hair peeking out above the computer screen moved, it’s owner shifting too look around, and Dick’s face appeared. 

“Tim!” he said, mouth dropping open. 

They stared at each other for a breath before Dick’s face lit up in a smile, “I’m glad you’re up. Did your nap help?” 

“Uh, yeah. It was refreshing.” Tim shifted his laptop from under one arm to the other. “What are you doing here?” 

Dick’s smile turned sheepish. “It was the only place I could think of to get some work done in peace. I tried sitting on the couch but Damian won’t stop bugging me about more training, and I’m still nursing bruises from the last time I worked with him. Then Jason’s got the library on lockdown and won’t let me in for anything but reading for fun.” He shrugged.

“I guess we both had the same idea then,” he said, lifting the laptop up so Dick could see it. 

“We did!” Dick said, “You’d think in a house this big we’d have at least one other office.” 

He glanced around the room and pointed at one of the plush chairs by the bookshelves, “Want to join me? I won’t talk your ear off, I promise.” 

Tim hummed, thinking about the offer. Dick could promise all he wanted, but he was a chatterbox. Any time they worked together in a room on something that wasn’t time sensitive like a case, Dick had the tendency to talk at him, then pull Tim into a conversation about something totally unrelated to what either of them were working on. If he stayed, it would only be a matter of time before his laptop was closed and they were deep into a conversation about music or whatever new food craze Dick wanted to try. 

“Sure, but after today we need to get a few new office spaces set up. If everyone’s going to stay here, we’re going to need more than one printer.” 

Dick laughed at that. “Agreed.” 

Tim got his laptop booted up and had just started a search for ‘strange bat symbols found in caves’ before Dick slid back, away from the desk. 

“So I started looking up office furniture - do you want a gamer chair or something more normal?” 

Dick’s sudden desire to fix their office situation officially derailed any actual searching Tim could get done. They worked together to pick out new stuff until Cass found them to announce dinner. 

He didn’t get another chance to sit down and start his search for the rest of the night. Then work and diving into regular patrolling again continued to keep him busy. And honestly, Tim had forgotten how much patrol took out of him. Even a week off had helped him catch up on much needed rest. From the way Dick had called things early their first night out, he had a feeling his brother was feeling much the same way. 

They were almost a week into their new routine when Tim decided to call work early and go home for some personal research. They were still waiting on furniture for office spaces, so Tim settled on working on a couch in the living room. There, he could gaze out the window to the lawn or flick on the television if he needed background noise. 

It took some digging, but Tim eventually stumbled on a blog post made within the past week that looked promising. Okay, so he hadn’t stumbled on it. He’d fallen down a rabbit hole into what was a series of twists and turns on the internet that led him to a reddit thread dedicated to the Berenstein Bears conspiracy, and other related ideas. 

Someone calling themselves CatchMeWithMyTinFoilHat pointed out that on a recent trip to Spain they’d noticed a strange bat shaped symbol on an old wall in Toledo. The thing was, they couldn’t remember it having been there before even though they’d spent an entire semester there as an art student in an exchange program. 

Replies to their post included the same type of thing showing up in a few other parts of Spain, one from Prague and a guy who worked at a museum in Germany mentioning feeling like some of the exhibits had changed. 

All Tim had really needed to see was the word bat. It was the sign he needed proving (maybe) that Bruce wasn’t dead. He was...somewhere else and trying to contact them. A different time? Place? Alternate Earth? Who knew when it came to battles with Darkseid. 

What Tim was certain of was that this was something he had to see through. His own dream of the cave with the symbol told him as much. They were connected. They had to be. Right? 

Even if they weren’t, he needed to know. He needed to be sure, because if even the slightest chance existed that Bruce was alive and in need of help Tim was going to find him. He’d find his dad and bring him home. There was no way he was letting go of this. Like he hadn’t been able to let go of the fact that Batman needed a Robin or how he’d been sure Dick Grayson and Robin were one in the same. This was something Tim was going to have to see through, one way or another. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Jason pov time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Tuesday is not a good posting day. Maybe Wednesdays are better. But at least I'm getting something up lol. Also, again I apologize for dual POVs I honestly thought I'd written everyone's to substantial lengths, and as I'm going through this I'm realizing that is not the case.

Dick ducked as a fist came flying at him. He turned on the back of his heel, and shoved his elbow up and into the attacker’s sternum. It connected, and the man cried out before falling backwards. Dick grinned as he danced backwards and away.

Something caught as he moved, making Dick stumble backwards, one foot getting caught in the long cape that was for some reason under him now. It wrapped around his ankle as he twisted and turned in his attempt to find his balance, and finally tore even that from him, sending him stumbling to the ground. 

The man he’d been fighting caught his own breath and straightened, now towering over Dick as he struggled to untangle himself from his cape. The guy had scooped a plank of wood up from somewhere and hefted it to swing downwards while Dick fumbled for a batarang. A slim metal rod interrupted its descent. 

Robin moved in between Dick and the thug, giving him enough time to finally untangle his boot from the traitorous cape and locate what had caused all the trouble. The cape had caught on a part of raised concrete, just crooked enough to catch a cape that was ever so slightly too long. 

Dick yanked it back and finally stood again. He looked around and realized Robin had finished off the men they’d been fighting. He was currently crouched over and securing zip ties around the guy’s wrists. 

He contacted Oracle while Robin finished securing the men, and then they were off, ready to continue patrol. Dick held in his frustration for all of five minutes, just long enough for them to have made it far enough away from the thugs they’d fought and into a relatively quiet part of town.

“You know, things like that never happened when I was Robin.” 

Tim snorted, “When you were Robin your cape was about as big as a napkin.”

“First of all, rude. Secondly, it was not. My cape was long enough to be fantastic, but not so long it tripped me up at the littlest thing.” 

As if to make his point, part of the cape curled up and threatened to tangle around his leg again. Dick swatted at it, tugging it loose.

Tim chuckled, “We’ll just have to ask Alfred to take off another inch when we get back.” 

Dick grunted and reached up to fiddle with the cowl again. “An inch there and some adjustments to the cowl. My peripherals are a nightmare."

“You didn’t complain this much when you were filling in for Bruce last time,” Tim pointed out, as they both stopped atop the edge of the roof they were on. 

Their patrol route was well planned, but they’d gotten off it when they’d moved to stop the thugs. Dick paused while trying to sort out what direction they needed to go in order to get back on track. He wouldn’t lie that the break was so he could school the emotions suddenly rushing through him. 

It was the permanence of their situation that fueled Dick’s many complaints. After Bane, he’d been able to ignore the little irritants that came with donning the cape and cowl, because he understood that sooner or later he’d be back in his Nightwing uniform. Now? A miracle had to happen for him to be allowed to step back into the life he’d made for himself. 

He didn’t want to complain. Well he did, but he didn’t. This was simply what he had to do, and whining about it would help no one. What he could rail against were all the inconveniences that came with added kevlar, a heavy cape, and a cowl that made his head sweat. 

The wind caught his cape in a sudden rush and dragged at him, causing a spark of irritation to flare up in his chest. 

“Yes, well this time I’m not just filling in, am I?” Dick snapped. 

His anger fizzled out almost as soon as he said the words, as he realized that he’d lashed out at Tim. He looked over at his partner, ready to apologize, but Tim didn’t look like he’d even processed Dick’s words. 

“Robin?” Dick prompted. 

“What would you do if I said this might not be as permanent as you think?” Tim said, face straight ahead, without looking at Dick at all. 

“What?” 

Something sharp and painful flooded Dick’s chest, stealing his breath. He couldn’t quite breathe against this new pressure, couldn’t even name it. 

Tim leaned back a bit and tapped a foot behind him, “I might have found something? It’s not really--It’s not solid proof. It’s really not much more than a rumor and my gut.” 

The hope, for that’s what had pressed against Dick’s chest, evaporated. “Tim,” he said, dropping code names, “I want him to be alive too, but a rumor?” 

His brother turned to face him now, face set. “I know what it sounds like, but something’s telling me that maybe Bruce is alive.” 

Everything in Dick wanted to take Tim’s words and run with them. Instead he released a slow breath. “I know we’re really bad at grieving, but Tim, I saw the body. Dr. Mid-nite confirmed it was Bruce. DNA doesn’t lie, Tim.” 

It was as much to convince himself as it was to convince his brother. 

“I know.” Tim’s shoulders shrank for a moment before he straightened. “I know, and it’s the longest of long shots, but I can’t stop thinking about what if. What if there’s the slimmest of possibilities he’s not?” 

Before Dick could argue again Tim held up his hand. “I’m not saying we quit everything to look into this. Just a couple days. You and me and Spain. That’s where most of the rumors have come from so far and if we find nothing then that’s it. We come home and I stop thinking about it.” 

The words felt caught in his throat.  _ Yes, I want to go _ .  _ Yes, I want to find my dad _ .  _ Yes, I want to hope _ . They warred against sense. They warred against the fact that Dick had seen Bruce. Seen what remained of him. Heard the story of what happened, and buried his dad. He couldn’t--he wouldn’t get that hope up for a rumor. 

“Tim, I--” 

“Think on it?” Tim’s words were rushed, a plea. 

“I can’t.” Dick shook his head. “Tim, I can’t. You have to understand that I--”

His brother swallowed. “I get it.” Dick could hear the disappointment in his voice. “I do, but Dick I need this.” 

“And I can’t just leave Gotham, or Alfred, or Damian, or the rest of the family trying to move on. I don’t think Jason would stay with just Damian, Cass, and Steph around. We’re all trying to move on in our own ways, and they need me there to help. And you, Tim need to move on too, it’s okay to let him go.”

As he said those words his heart ached. He didn’t want to let Bruce go either, but they couldn’t keep living this way. Living like--like he was going to pop back up or something.

His brother shook his head. “Not until I’ve checked. If I’m wrong, I will. I’ll come home and you can lock me in my room or force me into therapy or whatever. But I need to know, Dick. I need to at least check.” 

Dick understood Tim’s drive. He knew if their places were switched, and if he’d been the one to stumble on whatever this was, he’d probably also be as attached to the idea as Tim was. Just putting himself in Tim’s shoes told Dick the kid was probably hanging onto any hope he could. He hadn’t had the best year, not with losing Kon and Bruce. 

“You really think there might be a chance?” 

“I don’t know, but I have to rule it out.” 

Dick nodded. “I can’t leave Gotham. Not right now. I want to hope you’re right, but I can’t devote the energy to that. Not when so many people are relying on me.”

Tim seemed to deflate at that. Dick shook his head and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “That doesn’t mean I’m saying no or you’re losing me. Whatever you need, Tim, you have it. You go, find Bruce if he’s out there, with my full support.” 

“But you’re not coming?” 

“I trust you. It’s your journey, your adventure. Besides if I go, you know that Damian’s going to try to make himself boss or WE or something and that’s the last thing we want.” This prompted a small smile from Tim. 

Dick continued, “I’m holding down the fort here, but that doesn’t mean you can’t reach out, and if you get in trouble, you call. I’ll be there.” 

Tim nodded. “It’s just going to be a weekend.” He shifted again, hand reaching up to cover Dick’s. “If I’m being honest, I’m not sure what I’ll find. I want to find something, but--”

“Listen, I’ll be here no matter what happens, okay?” 

He tugged Tim into a hug, and squeezed him tight, “I love you.” 

Tim returned the embrace, face buried in Dick’s shoulder so much that his response was a bit muffled. “Thanks.” 

~

Jason knew he could not simply live in the library and kitchen. And yet, for almost three weeks now he had been attempting just that. The first week was understandable. It had been a kind of special time of mourning for him, not unlike when people used to don black and cover mirrors for weeks to show respect. 

For Jason, it was not mirrors or black clothes but time, carved out for him to rage and cry and sit and stare out the window with a book in hand and try to sort out the knotted mess that was his head and heart. Jason couldn’t say he’d actually sorted anything out. In fact, he felt messier than before. But he knew he’d needed that time. 

Now? He wasn’t sure what he was doing. Extending it, maybe? Waiting on the world to feel right again? Hiding? 

Cassandra had accused him of hiding. Jason had thrown a book at her, but now he was starting to feel like maybe she was right. 

Truth be told, he hadn’t been spending one hundred percent of his time in the library --even if he’d made everyone think that. He’d been around. He trained downstairs with Dick and Cass sometimes, helped Alfred in the kitchen, took long walks around the grounds, and generally avoided all thoughts of returning to patrol. 

Everyone else had at this point, but Jason couldn’t quite bring himself to don the uniform again. It felt a bit like he did - gutted and empty. 

He paced, like a panther waiting for its prey up a tree, back and forth and forth and back. Past windows whose domed glass glittered in all kinds of colors, past the books set on shelves just out of the sun’s reach and then a heel turn, and he’d pass them again. 

It was almost like going in circles, and if he just added a few steps to this dance he would be. 

Abruptly he stopped, freezing in front of one of the windows. The library had two stories and could be entered either from the ground or second floors. Jason’s preferred reading nook rested on the second floor, where he could feel the sun and look down from one of the manor’s sides, across green grass, Alfred’s garden, and an expanse of trees that stretched beyond where Jason could see. 

He cracked the window open and let in air that was fresh and smelled of green things drifting up. It was sun-warmed this late in the day, and only held the smallest of bites. 

Jason closed his eyes and breathed in the air, almost able to pretend he was a kid again, doing homework in the library, with Bruce working below him. And if he waited long enough they’d be suiting up to go out into Gotham and save people, or maybe it was the weekend and Bruce was packing the car for a camping trip. Or a hundred other perfect days. 

A tear dripped down his cheek and made him open his eyes to run a hand under them. “Stupid Bruce,” he mumbled, “stupid crusade, and stupid me.” 

In the end, he didn’t think the anger had been worth it. He had traded innumerable perfect days for anger and solitude, and because of that any future good times were gone, lost to another bullet. 

Jason turned and looked around the library. He really could not keep spending so much time in here. If he did, he’d-he wasn’t sure what would happen but he had a feeling he’d regret it in much the same way he was fighting regret now. 

So, before anyone came to collect him for dinner or poke their head into the library in a misguided attempt at getting him to join a game of Mario Kart, Jason left on his own, with a book tucked under his arm. 

He was still getting used to everything that was different since he’d lived there. It was mostly little changes. A new couch here, a few added tables there, carpet of a different shade, and more pictures, so many more pictures. It hurt to look at all the ones he wasn’t in. As for the ones he was? Those almost hurt more to see. 

Jason swung by the kitchen for a glass of water and then wandered about, ears pricked for the tell-tale sounds of conversation. While he’d been cooped up, he knew the others had been moving around the building, going outside for games, and generally filling the space in the way a full house could. It was a little after five now, so everyone should be filtering back from school or work and in turn, should be making some kind of noise. 

He found some noise centered in the screening room. When Jason poked his head inside, he found Cassandra and Stephanie lounging on one of the couches with the projector playing cartoons? Jason took a better look at the screen and grinned. 

“You guys watching Avatar?” 

Cass patted the cushion beside her. “Steph says it should only be watched on the big screen.” 

“Heck yes, it should.” He moved inside and, instead of joining them on the couch, took an armchair, releasing the footrest with a grin at both as a sort of peace offering. He was joining them, but they weren’t at the cuddling on the couch stage of things. Jason didn’t even know where he’d be in three days, so yeah. Joining for Avatar? Yes. Buddy-buddy? Not quite. 

“Season one? Did you just start?” he asked. 

Steph nodded. “We had to wait for Tim to help us with the download.”

Jason frowned. “Is he back from his hunt?” 

She sat up, leaning on an elbow, and shook her head. “Nah, video chat. He’s in...” she paused thinking.

“Prague,” Cass supplied. 

Steph nodded. “Yeah, there. Said he’d found something in Spain that was a hint or another somethin, something?” she shrugged. “I’ve honestly got no clue, he was talking way too fast to really comprehend what he’d found.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, distantly. 

He’d initially reacted to Tim’s quest the way any sane person would, which was to say he’d thought his little brother had lost his marbles. They had DNA, a body, the word of the Justice League. There really wasn’t any wiggle room for doubt. Not in Jason’s eyes at least. 

But, the thought of Bruce being alive kept digging at Jason. A tiny spark of hope, like a second chance. 

He understood why Tim had felt he’d needed to see this through. Hope did that to you. It drove and pushed and generally did everything it could to keep you going. And when Tim had extended his two day trip abroad to telling everyone he’d be gone for a week, well, that seed of hope in Jason’s chest had sprouted. 

Of course he wanted Tim to be right. All the insanely complicated emotions and thoughts that brought up were naught compared to just the idea that maybe Bruce was alive. But he didn’t want to hope too much. He had a feeling that if he thought about it too much he’d get invested, and if he got invested, well he might not be out there next to Tim, but he’d sure be tech support from home. 

“Anyway, because of that we’re only on episode three, but we could go back if you wanted?” Steph’s voice brought Jason back to Earth. 

“Nah, I’m happy to start here.” 

They watched Avatar up until dinner, and picked it up again after, all the way up until the girls had to get suited up for patrol. Jason was left on his own then. The book he’d been carrying around with him still rested on the arm of the chair and he lifted it, tapping his fingers on the cover. 

He didn’t really want to head back to the library, or be alone, so instead he moved down to the cave. Alfred was on the comms, with Damian hovering like the overeager ten year old he was, yammering on about how he could help and had finished his homework (when had the brat started school?) to Alfred’s very firm refusals. 

“Does three make a party?” Jason asked, announcing his presence. 

“Have you finally found your nerve again?” Damian asked, all hints of childlike eagerness wiped away in exchange for the haughtiness bred into him by the Al Ghuls. 

“Never lost it.” Jason shrugged. “I’m taking a break. It’s something you all could learn to do once in a while.” 

“Tt. A true warrior doesn’t take breaks.” 

Oh boy. Jason wondered how Dick had put up with the kid this long. He knew for a fact the little gremlin was pushing Dick’s buttons. The man had spent almost the entirety of Saturday hiding in the library with Jason and complaining. At the time Jason had thought it hilarious. Now he just felt bad for his older brother. 

“If that were true, all warriors would die young from overexertion and stupid mistakes that come from being tired,” Jason responded, then smirked. “Since you’re still kicking, I’d say that means you’re on the stupid mistakes part.”

Damian sneered at him, “I guess you would be the expert, having allowed yourself to be killed as Robin.” 

“Why you snot nosed little--”

“That is quite enough, both of you.” Alfred did not snap at them, but he might as well have had with all the iron his tone held.

The words had been aimed at both of them, but Alfred was looking directly at Damian. The boy tsked again and turned on his heel to move to the training mats. 

“Don’t mind me,” Jason said, holding up his book, “I’m just here for company.”

He was, but he was also a little curious about how Dick was faring without a Robin. He hadn’t talked much about going out as Batman, probably thinking it a sore spot, and Jason hadn’t prompted him for information. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to know.

Jason read and glanced up from time to time either to chat with Alfred or look over the screens detailing out Dick’s night of patrol. He was following a pretty simple four-hour patrol route, with a max desired time of five-and-a-half hours. It was something similar to what Jason had done. One couldn’t reasonably be out for eight hours. So evening patrols were staggered through the night, with different teams taking different shifts through the week.

From what Jason was picking up while listening to Alfred’s side of conversations and the scattered info on the screen, the night wasn’t going smoothly. It seemed like Dick still hadn’t managed to sort out his cape problems --and who could blame him, Jason had ditched the cape as soon as possible for all the same reasons-- and generally hadn’t quite gotten a handle on dealing one-on-one with Gotham’s variety of bad guy.

Still, he made it back in one piece. One ragged, rumpled piece that Damian immediately took down another couple pegs before Alfred’s glare sent him scuttling back upstairs. 

“Tough night?” Jason asked once Dick stepped out of the locker room. 

Even after a shower he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He had indeed slept, Jason knew it for a fact since Alfred had let Dick sleep in so long he’d missed breakfast that morning. So his worn out expression only pointed to just how exhausted Dick was becoming. Tim hadn’t even been gone that long and Dick was already starting to show the strain of being without his partner both on patrol and at Wayne Enterprises. 

Dick shrugged. “I’ve had better.”

“You look like you’ve had better.”

“Rude,” Dick said, but didn’t move to deny it further. 

He hesitated a moment and then said, “You know, I could use some help with Tim gone.” 

Jason had a feeling Dick was going to ask for his help sooner or later. It was part of the reason he’d decided to lurk in the cave that evening. Despite what he’d told Damian hours earlier, Jason knew he needed to try something. He’d been avoiding patrol, but he couldn’t keep doing that. 

Still, what kind of a brother would he be if he gave in easily? 

He crossed his arms, then raised one to rub at his chin, “I’ve heard Batwoman’s back in town. Or maybe you could join the Birds of Prey?”

“Bold of you to assume I hadn’t asked them already,” Dick said, with a grin. 

Jason snorted, then shrugged, “Well if they rejected you, I guess it’s up to me to take pity on you and lend a hand, but ask me to wear the scaly undies and I’m out.” 

“Listen, those were your choice. I didn’t say you had to keep the outfit design the same.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Jason patrol together, and Jason realizes some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am late, life got crazy and I kind of forgot about posting in between that and all the Whumptober stuff happening. I hope you guys like this one, and where things are moving to.

The relief Dick felt just having someone by his side again in Gotham was palpable. He’d gotten used to Tim being with him. They’d quickly fallen into old habits, and having someone working with him had made Dick feel like he was on a team again, even if that was a team of two. If anything had become clear since he’d taken up Batman’s mantle, it was that he preferred having a partner to his lone patrols in Bludhaven. 

Dick didn’t have the same history patrolling with Jason that he did with Tim or his Titans teammates, but they weren’t strangers. Barring a fairly awkward first hour filled with some fumbles Dick was glad Damian was not privy to, they were working well together. It helped Dick begin to relax a bit, letting go of some of the tension he’d piled high on himself when Tim had left and it had been just him on his patrol route. 

The first couple hours went really well, he and Jason teased each other, and started to move closer to what they’d had those few wonderful times Dick had gotten to patrol beside him when he was Robin. Jason might be grown now, but pits and growth and a red hood couldn’t hide moves Dick had taught him when he was still in the R. 

Dick loved it. And he let himself relax back into the comfort of being with a sibling, of having someone who had his back. Unfortunately, Dick noticed as he grew more relaxed Jason was acting just the opposite, growing tenser and tenser. By the third hour, their casual conversation from the start of patrol turned to sharp remarks and short responses when he could get Jason to talk, and Jason seemed to be fighting harder and sloppier. 

The last thing Dick wanted to do was pry so much he scared Jason off, so after a couple attempts he let up. It was probably just first-patrol-in-a-while jitters catching up with him. Dick had gotten them his first night back out, and Tim had admitted to feeling a bit nervous too. This was probably just Jason’s way of shaking off the reset. 

Oracle alerted them of an alarm going off at a bank and they shifted to cover it. She couldn’t tell them more than the movement sensors had gone off, and the outside doors weren’t reporting any foul play. That itself indicated that the robbers at least had some sort of plan, even if it was a faulty one. 

They scoped out the building as they approached it, noting the front door hanging open. There were no lights flashing nor on; the alarm was a silent one so the hapless thieves probably weren’t even aware it was blaring. He did wonder why the GCPD hadn’t picked up on the signal, but that didn’t matter since he and Red Hood were already on the scene.

“Thermals read five men in the main room. If there are any further in or at the safe I can’t see them yet.” Jason said, from his side.

Dick nodded, “Any at the door?”

His brother scoffed, “You want to go in the front door?”

“They did leave it open for us.”

A huff and then, “No one’s close to the door.”

He shot his brother a wide grin, “The front door it is then. We can sneak up on each one and take them out before they even know we’re there.” 

He almost stopped at that, but Jason was still stressed, and maybe he could add some fun into his brother’s night, “Want to see who can knock the most out? Post-patrol ice cream is on the loser.”

He had a feeling the promise of some light competition would be enough to spur Jason into accepting. His brother liked competition as much as any of the Bats, and usually instigated it himself. Tonight the suggestion did not ease Jason’s shoulders, but caused them to tighten further. Dick wondered at how he could be so tense, so long. It had to be uncomfortable. 

“No games. Let’s just get inside and take care of this.” Jason told him, then to emphasize his point, he shot a grapple and swung down to the front of the building. Dick followed, frowning. 

They split up inside the building, working silently as they knocked out each of the masked robbers. Some had been raiding drawers, some supposedly on the lookout for the police, all were now safely unconscious and zip tied. 

Finally, they reached the safe door, which was hanging open. Jason peered into it, and flashed Dick two fingers to indicate the number of men. Almost immediately after, he started to creep in. Dick moved behind him.

As indicated, there were only two men in the room. Safety deposit boxes lined one wall, and open shelves the other two. Jason was moving a little too fast for Dick’s comfort. His attention seemed focused solely on the guy he was sneaking up on, leaving none for the floor under his boots. It was littered with things that had been tossed off shelves. 

A large cracking sound resonated through the quiet room as one of Jason’s boots crunched down on a discarded porcelain figure’s arm. 

Both men turned at the noise, and Dick caught sight of handguns in both their hands. The room was small, way too small, to let those guns go off. He lunged at the nearest one to wrestle the gun away from him. From the sounds of further struggle and distinct lack of gunfire so far, it seemed like Jason had done the same. 

Dick grabbed the man’s wrist and hefted it up in the air, away from immediate danger if he was to pull the trigger, and punched him square in the nose. It should have knocked the man out. While the man’s eyes  _ did  _ cross, he didn’t go down right away. He stayed standing for a second and even raised an arm to block a second blow from Dick. 

Dick caught that wrist and heard a gunshot go off. Close, but not as ear splitting as if it were the one raised above his and the robber’s heads. Dick shoved the man’s fist back towards his face, finally sending his eyes rolling back, and grabbed the gun as he collapsed. 

Then he turned to find Jason, furiously kicking the second gun away and zip tying the arms of the man he’d been fighting. 

“You good, Hood?” Dick asked, looking him over. 

“Fine,” Jason ground out, sounding furious and not fine at all. 

Dick couldn’t see anything immediately wrong, and he wasn’t going to push just yet, so he secured his own thug and did a once-over of the room to ensure they’d gotten everyone. When he was sure the robbery had been stopped, he contacted Oracle and let her know to send the police around. 

He let Jason get outside and halfway down the block before he stopped him, “Okay tell me what happened.” 

Jason shrugged, a few feet in front of him, “Wasn’t fast enough, that’s all.”

“Did he hit you?” Dick asked. 

“No,” Jason lied. 

And Dick knew it. Knew it from the way he was carrying himself, in how he hadn’t let Dick get in front of him. His rush to leave the building.    
  
“Jay.” 

“Code names, Dickwad. Batman of all people should insist on those,” Jason said but turned. 

Dick didn’t bother to correct him on the nickname, he was too focused on Jason’s arm. The shot had caught him right above his elbow. It didn’t look deep and wasn’t bleeding so much Dick would have caught on right away, still it wasn’t good. 

“Let’s call it a night.” Dick said, “We’re close enough to the end of the night anyway, and I think we need to talk.” 

It was telling that Jason didn’t argue. He sighed and dropped to the ground to sit on the curb, the tension leaching from his shoulders even as he did so. He waved his good arm in the air dismissively. 

“Call the car.” 

Dick hit the button to turn on the Batmobile’s remote activation. It would hone in on their location and pull right up. Hopefully not over Jason’s toes. After that, he too sat down beside his brother, hands on the ground behind him so he could lean on them.

There were a number of things Dick could do to start this conversation, but he’d learned after years of working with Bruce that sometimes you just had to be quiet and let your partner decide when to talk. It was not a skill he could claim to be the best at, but he could when the situation called for it. 

So Dick sat there. Gave his brother room while Jason also sat, slapped a bandage on the knick on his arm, and sat again. Eventually he mirrored Dick’s position, leaning back on his hands. He held that for a minute at most, before leaning forward to pull his knees forward and rest his arms on them. 

He’d just dropped his head into his arms when the car rolled up. Jason was up and in the car so fast he might as well have been imitating a speedster. Dick took things a bit slower; he stood, dusted off his cape, and then got in on the driver’s side. He glanced at Jason to make sure he was ready and then started home. 

“‘M sorry,” Jason mumbled, staring out at street lights as they lit the interior of the car, one swooping after another. 

“For what?” Dick asked, surprised. 

“It was dumb to come out. Dumb to stay out after I realized--” Jason broke off with a huff of frustration that Dick felt wasn’t at him. 

They passed one light, and another. 

“I’m not ready for this again.” Jason said, at last, “But you were so relaxed, and you needed help, and once we were out I kept thinking that I’d get over it. But I can’t.” 

He broke off again, and Dick glanced over at him. Jason was still staring out the window, hands in fists on his lap. 

“I don’t know what to do.” 

Jason’s voice was quiet, almost like the time Dick had found him hiding on the roof after a fight with Bruce so bad he’d been convinced he’d finally messed up bad enough he’d be sent away. Back then, Dick had easily been able to soothe his fears, and convince him things would be fine. Dick wanted to do the same, but he had no idea if he could. 

“I just know I can’t go back out.”

“Is it Bruce?” Dick asked, and regretted the words immediately, they could have a million different meanings. Any one of those could turn Jason off this whole conversation. 

Jason coughed a laugh, “Probably. The old man spiting me one more time from the grave.” He tugged off his helmet and sighed, finally leaning back against the chair, now looking ahead. 

“I don’t mean that. Least, I don’t think I do. It is partially his fault, yes, but it’s mine too. I dunno. There’s still something off in me, something that doesn’t want this.” He waved his helmet at the car then glanced at Dick. 

“I get that.” Dick told him with a hum, “You don’t have to go back out if you don’t want to. I think Bruce would want us to find our own paths, whether he was alive or not.” 

They fell into silence for a bit, Jason considering Dick’s words and Dick trying to mull over Jason’s. He had a feeling Jason, out of all of them, was facing the biggest choice in what to do. His own path was laid out, Dick wasn’t going to let the city fall or make anyone else take up Batman’s mantle. Tim, Cass, and Steph all seemed happy to keep pushing forward as they had. And Damian? Well, the kid wouldn’t stop asking when he could go out into the field, no matter how much Dick might want him to have a normal life. 

But Jason? So much of who he’d been after he came back was wrapped up in Bruce. In anger and irritation and hurt. And to have that driving force stripped away, to leave him bare and face to face with his own feelings? 

“Have you thought about maybe seeing a therapist? You know Dinah’s been working with a few heroes and even some retired ones. Helping them sort things out, find purpose, and just giving them a place to talk.” 

He glanced again over at his brother. Jason was looking at him, mouth agape. For a moment Dick thought he was going to be angry. Then, Jason blinked and snapped his mouth shut, thinking. 

“That’s not too bad an idea,” he said. “I’ll think on it.”

“You’ll have her number by morning.” Dick said, with a smile. 

Jason nodded, “I know I’m leaving you in the lurch and if I can--”

Dick held up a hand, “Don’t worry about it. I managed Bludhaven alone for a long time, and Tim’s got to come back soon. I’ll be fine.” 

“But the comms, Alfred shouldn’t have to cover them every night. Maybe I could help with those?”

He switched the car into autopilot, they were just about out of Gotham now anyway. Then, he turned to really look at Jason, tugging his cowl back so they could make eye contact.

“Do you want to? And really think about it, Jason, then answer.”

To his credit, Jason did. His eyes glanced down and for a long while they were quiet again, “I--I’m not sure. I don’t know if I want anything to do with vigilantes anymore. But--”

“Then don’t worry about it. I’ll have Damian cover some nights for Alfred. It’ll get him off my back about being useful. He’s still convinced that if he’s not pulling his weight we’re going to kick him out and send him back to Talia. While I don’t want to promote unhealthy thoughts like that,” he grinned sheepishly, “This will give him something to do. Plus, it’ll help prep him for fieldwork.” 

Jason whistled, then shook his head, “Sounds like he needs as much therapy as I do.”

“If you want to help, he's the one who could really use it.” Dick frowned, “He comes off as a pain, but at his center he’s ten and desperate for someone to love him.” 

“Weren’t we all?” Jason joked, then added, “I’ll see what I can do. The league has a great library, but crap selection for fiction. The kid’s probably never even heard of Jane Austen, and it’d be a shame if he went any longer without some proper education.” 

That was one more on his team, Dick thought. One more member of the family working to try to heal Damian. And, heal themselves too. He had a feeling Jason was going to turn out just fine. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian's pov

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this one. I had a lot of fun writing it, and exploring some more of how Dames is feeling during everything.

Damian was delighted he’d been finally given something to do. He was not going to admit that out loud, nor was he planning on smiling at all tonight. It was a mission after all. He had been tasked with accompanying Pennyworth and learning the ins and outs of running the comms so that he could take over on night’s when the man needed a break. 

It sent a thrill through him as he took the offered chair next to Pennyworth at the Batcomputer. Damian was not normally allowed to use the computer, nor do much to assist with patrols. At first, Damian had believed it was because they did not trust him. Grayson had explained that the system was complicated, and had made it clear to Damian that mistakes might cost lives, and so he had reluctantly agreed to wait. Now that he was being given permission, his stomach fluttered with those same warnings. 

  
The chair was soft but not so plush one might fall asleep sitting in it too long. It was just the sort of comfortable that helped keep someone from being distracted by aches and pains from hours sitting there paying close attention. And close attention was exactly what was required of Damian if he were to watch Grayson’s back as he was out working in Gotham. 

“Tonight I will run everything and talk you through the steps.” Pennyworth explained, “We will do the same for the next week. After that you’ll be in my seat and at the controls. I will be here to assist you the rest of the week, then after we will take shifts. Does that sound acceptable to you, Master Damian?” 

He nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly, but Damian’s heart was racing. He was being allowed to learn. To help. To do something, anything that wasn’t constant training, Pennyworth’s accursed lessons, or skulking around. 

It felt good. Even though Damian didn’t get to hit any buttons nor comment to Grayson beyond a hello, he felt like he was finally accomplishing something. It set a warm feeling in his stomach that didn’t leave the whole night. Even when Batman got in a spot of trouble and had to be bailed out by Batgirl and Spoiler, the worry was soon replaced by that wonderful feeling of being needed. 

Damian was in such a good mood that when Grayson returned and insisted on giving him a hug as congratulations for making it through a first night on the comms, he allowed it with little grumbling. 

He tried not to think about how that hug felt much like the warm, soft feeling in his chest he’d had all night. 

The next two nights went much the same, though Damian grew more and more impatient to physically be at the controls and to make full use of the knowledge that Pennyworth was imparting on him. 

He expressed this impatience once, on the third day, “I do not see the point in watching for a week. Clicking buttons to check maps is hardly challenging.”

“It has been a calm few nights.” Pennyworth explained, “However, there is nothing simple about this job when Riddler is on the loose, or when Batman is working on a larger case. Even without those situations, to consider this ‘simple’ is to risk his life. He relies on our information, backup, and eyes on information he cannot easily pull up. If you see this as a lax job then I am not sure I can trust you to take over.”

“No!” Damian all but yelled, “No, that is not what I meant. It is an important duty, and I take it seriously.” 

There was something unreadable in Pennyworth’s eye at that. “Then prove it, take this portion of the training seriously so that I know I can trust you when our positions are swapped.”

Damian did not complain again after that. He wanted to, especially as the week grew to a close and his hands itched to type out a command or practice information that had been drilled into him. But, he did not speak up; he would not lose this one opportunity to foolish impatience. He had waited far longer for far more important events. 

When at last it was Damian in the command seat and Alfred waiting patiently next to him, Damian thought he was going to be excited. Instead, his chest buzzed with nervousness. There was a stark difference in sitting next to someone as they worked, and being the one to actually do things himself. 

It was silly to feel nervous. Damian had trained for a week, and this was by no means the first time he’d touched the computer. Pennyworth had made him come early a number of nights to run him through tests and once or twice allowed him to suggest a course of action. Beyond that, he was an Al Ghul. Failure was not an option, certainly not when he was directing Batman’s actions for the night. 

He glanced at the screen to watch the footage coming from Grayson’s cowl, then to another window indicating his vitals. Everything looked normal, even as Damian checked and checked again, anxiety twisting in his chest.

He could not help but wonder if this was all a test. What if they were tricking him? Trying to see if Damian would purposefully let Grayson fail? It was a lot of work to put into such a test, but not unheard of. Damian had often found himself in the middle of similar situations set by his Grandfather. 

Then, the rules had often changed halfway through. He wondered if this were the same. Would things change? Was Pennyworth not here to continue instructing, but to strip him of this opportunity at the first sign of his inability to recall everything correctly? At an incorrect decision he made? Were they waiting for him to turn on them? 

Nothing indicated any of this, but Damian knew better. Damian had been trained to know better. His fingers hesitated over the keyboard, as nerves seemed to strip them of their strength. 

Up until this point, little had been expected of Damian --a frustrating thing on its own-- and this was the first real task anyone had for him. Was this all some test designed to see if he was worth keeping around? A test of his loyalty? 

He shook the thoughts away. There was little point in lingering on them, no matter how this turned out, he had a job to do. 

Grayson was not having a good night, and so Damian must focus on that instead of his own doubts. 

The streets were busy, the Birds had their own problems to deal with, and even Damian could tell Batman was tired. He had hoped that Drake returning for a few days last week --only to already be gone again-- and Grayson taking the weekend off would have recharged him but he could hear the stress in the man’s voice. 

Then he picked up some chatter about a “really weird statue” in the college district that was also described as “incredibly creepy” and “giving chills”. It was strange enough Damian felt inclined to check it out, just to make sure it was not some trap being set up by one of Gotham’s many costumed criminals. 

He glanced at Pennyworth for permission even as he opened a new window to start a search for security cameras in the area covering the street listed. He hesitated to hit enter, and then Pennyworth nodded. 

“If your instinct says to check it out, then by all means.” 

It was not the sour, dismissive, kind of permission Damian would sometimes receive from tutors. This was genuine. Pennyworth seemed to truly approve and almost sounded proud. Though pride would be determined by Damian’s discovery, he was certain. 

He found the street and quickly located the “strange, scary” sculpture. What he could see, lit by street lights and a light from a bookstore across the street was certainly odd, though he would not classify it as extremely creepy. 

However, Brown had told him his sense of what could be considered creepy was skewed. Damian could not outright deny that fact even if he wanted to. There was no getting around the fact that once he had brought his grandfather a horned crown from some ancient ritual. 

Still, this surely could not be considered too creepy. It was just large and odd. It was a towering, oddly shaped set of statues. They looked to perhaps be made of wood? And were shaped like people, bending over with legs spread strangely. He zoomed the camera in, still keeping his ears open in case Grayson needed him. 

Two people, with hoods drawn up to conceal their faces, were lifting another piece of wood that looked a bit like an arm, to press it’s palm into the ground. Zoomed in, Damian could see a series of colorful dots littering the sidewalk. 

He heard Pennyworth hmm curiously. 

“What do you think it is?” Damian asked, glancing over at him.

“It looks to be a statue of people playing Twister.”

Damian frowned, “I am unfamiliar with that game.”

“Master Richard is quite good at it.” Pennyworth said, with the hint of a smile on his lips. 

Damian nodded, it was obvious that whatever these people were doing seemed less dangerous than inconvenient. Problematic for anyone who could not duck between the lowered arms and legs, but nothing outright impossible to bypass. 

Damian’s heart sunk as he realized this was probably nothing to worry about, at least nothing for Batman to be concerned with. Still, it might be good to warn Grayson and the Birds in case they ended up close by so they did not end up tripped up. 

He screenshotted the cleanest version of the scene he could get, in case anyone wanted a visual, then shot off a message to Oracle. 

“Batman, there is a large structure in the college district.” he said, into his radio, “If you cross it, be aware it’s difficult to go under.”

“That’s odd. Anything I should check out?” 

“No,” Damian said, eyes flickering back over to the still open window, the figures seemed to have finished their task, “I simply did not think you wished to break your neck attempting to fly through it.” 

He waited for Pennyworth to inform him that he had wasted time investigating the statue. He really needn't have bothered reporting it; no one who was out currently was scheduled to go by that area during the evening’s patrol. And so, it was of little real practical use to have looked at. 

As soon as his image was saved, he closed out of the window and tried not to think about it. Still, doubt circled in his head. Had he made the right call? Or was Pennyworth waiting on Grayson’s return to announce his failure? Was this the end of his chance to help? Sure, the man had told him to go with his instincts, and had not seemed upset by the outcome, but Damian knew better. 

Grandfather had once sat him and his mother down in front of two glasses filled with tea and told him to choose. One was poisoned, the other not. Grandfather had also told him to choose based on his instincts.

He had been given this test before with instructions to select the safe cup. Let the other participant die. It was obvious Grandfather wanted him to do the same, to let his instincts choose the one without poison. Damian knew which it was, he could smell the sharp scent through the spices in the tea easily. It was obvious. 

At the same time, Damian knew the rules had changed. He could not let his mother die. Grandfather would not let his mother die. But Damian was also not supposed to take the poison. 

In the end he had failed the test. He drank the poisoned cup. 

To say Grandfather was disappointed would be putting it lightly. Damian had failed in choosing love. His wrist he’d used to lift the cup ached faintly at the memory, and he winced remembering the way Grandfather had so casually ordered it broken.

“Now, you will remember your lessons,” Grandfather had said.

Damian remembered, remembered the pain, the way he had been sick for days, and his mother’s disappointed look. 

It was that memory which fueled the uncertainty in his chest. He did not think that kind of punishment waited for him here. Not for something as small as taking extra time to look over a possible danger. But he was not entirely sure what to expect. He did not wish to be a disappointment, but how could he choose correctly when no one had told him the rules? 

No one had told him much of anything. 

He had to work to keep his breathing even as the weight of not knowing hit him again. He had felt it often enough during training sessions, being dropped off at places with no explanation as to what he was to do. Being handed assignment sheets wordlessly only to have them snatched up after an undescribed period of time. It was to keep him thinking on his feet, always on guard, aware. 

Damian hated it. It made him tight, tense, and tired. 

He hated that he still felt that way. 

Not that he could do much about it. If his father’s family had expectations for him, well he would learn them soon enough. Grayson could not simply wish he “be a normal boy”. It was a foolhardy idea, and one the man did not seem interested in following through on. So far, Damian rarely saw him outside of meals and training.

Brown and Todd were different. Damian did not know what to make of them. Of the unrelenting nature of Brown’s attempts to rope him into idiodic activities like bike riding and watching cartoons. Or Todd pushing books onto him and dragging him to the library for ‘cultural education’ in the form of reading fiction. 

At least they seemed to be attempting Grayson’s promise. Still. It was probably a trap. An attack on multiple sides to get him to lower his guard and then--well Damian was unsure what their plan was. And that was the problem wasn’t it? 

He shook off his worries as best as he could, and set his focus to not making any more mistakes. 

When Grayson returned from patrol and praised his handling of the comms Damian was certain he had made the right decision, and no one was upset with him. He only wished he could take that confidence into the rest of his life. 

Damian’s nights running comms continued to get better over the week. Though, he found himself more and more exhausted as the week continued. He had grown weak in his time with the family, prior to this he’d been sleeping more here than he had ever. And the lack of it, after two weeks of surveillance, was catching up to him. 

He took to doodling to keep himself awake, not really caring that Pennyworth saw the scribbles. It was not full-on art, and it kept his mind busy on slower nights. The ones Drake returned for were especially boring, with Batman needing them little as he had a partner. 

Currently Damian did not have to worry about Drake. The boy was off with his Titans friends, called away from both Grayson’s side and his own search for Father by an emergency with them. 

Drake’s willingness to up and leave Batman dug at Damian. Could he not see that Grayson needed him? That the man was far more exhausted than he let on, that Gotham was a harsher mistress than Nightwing’s ‘Bludhaven’? It was a foolish time to be so lax in one’s duties, and yet Drake was gone more than he was around. 

Damian brushed off those thoughts, it wouldn’t do to linger on irritations he could do little about. No, the best thing to do was prove his own worth by showing Grayson he could be the partner that would not fail him. 

He cast his eyes up and down from screen to sticky note as he doodled and kept an eye on Grayson’s cowl footage, currently in the middle of a stakeout. 

A yawn built up at the back of his throat, and Damian tried to swallow it down. Instead it came out loud and somewhat obnoxious. He dropped his pencil to slap his hand over his mouth. When the accursed yawn was over, he turned to look at Pennyworth. 

The two weeks Damian had spent with the butler had taught him much about Pennyworth. He was clever and witty and delightful to be around. He was far more patient than Damian deserved, and yet more fearsome than any of Damian’s tutors had been. 

Right now, he seemed to be reading Damian like a book.

“I will make us both some ceylon,” he declared, standing. “It will do good to stretch my legs.” 

Damian nodded. “I would appreciate that.” 

He did his best to stay awake, doodling a picture of the docks Grayson was observing, adding tiny boats and a little jutting pier. Bored and tired, Damian paused to rest his chin on his arms, that was all it took. His eyelids fluttered closed and he was out. 

Someone clearing their throat woke him. Damian sat up with a start, the pencil once gripped loosely now held tight as he spun, ready to defend himself from---

“Pennyworth.” Damian said, heat already beginning to flood into his cheeks. 

“Guys? Anyone got that traffic update for me?” Grayson’s voice came crackling over the radio. He sounded like he was moving. 

Damian scrambled to respond. “The street again, Batman?” 

“Bernard and Second.” 

Through the white noise filling his head, Damian’s fingers flew over the keyboard to fulfil Batman’s request. “Clear,” he said, voice clipped. 

“Thanks!” There was the sound of air moving quickly, like he’d jumped from something. A glance at the cam footage confirmed it, with the ground quickly rising to meet Batman before his grapple line went taut and he was swinging. 

Damian sat frozen then, fear making his heart beat rabbit-quick against his chest. He had fallen asleep. Failed in the worst of ways. It was as if he’d gotten up and simply left Grayson. The man could have died because he had allowed himself to fall prey to something so stupid as sleep. 

“I would guess you were only out for a few minutes. The tea hardly took long at all,” Pennyworth said, taking his seat and lowering the tray he’d brought in. 

Damian hadn’t even noticed it when he’d woken. Like it had been invisible. Another failure. 

Pennyworth set a cup of tea before Damian and placed his own on the table before setting the tray aside. 

“It is nothing to be ashamed of.” Pennyworth said, “I was here, and it was not an emergency.” 

An answer felt stuck in Damian’s throat. He reached out for his tea and tapped the side of the cup, his wrist aching.

“Master Damian, look at me.” 

Damian turned his gaze slowly to the man beside him, and waited. 

Pennyworth did not look angry or disapproving. But that did not stop Damian from fretting. His wrist positively ached, and his stomach turned a bit thinking of the tea. This mistake was far worse than spending time on investigating a mystery. 

“Do not worry on it, it is all part of learning.” 

All he could do was nod, a single, sharp movement. 

Pennyworth returned to his seat, and sipped on his tea, “If it helps, it has happened to us all before.” he added, “When it is important, you will be awake. Adrenaline does have a way of keeping one awake.” 

Damian did, of course, worry on it. Shame and guilt pooled in his stomach. All he could think of for the rest of the night was his mistake. The fact that he had fallen asleep doing the one and only thing he’d been asked to do since he’d arrived here. It did not matter that he was not the only one to have done it, or that in an emergency situation things would be different. 

By the time Grayson returned, Damian felt so tightly wound with anticipation --what was going to happen, would he be punished? Removed from his position? Never allowed out to patrol?-- he had no idea what to expect. 

The man looked tired, Damian could read that easily on Grayson’s face as he pulled the cowl back, and unclasped the cape from his shoulders. When he saw Damian, he gave him a worn smile. 

“Good job tonight,” he said. 

Damian stiffened, “What?” 

Grayson blinked at him, “I mean, you did a good job.” He turned his gaze on Pennyworth, who nodded in agreement. 

“Master Damian did quite well. I only had to prompt his attention once.” 

His heart started to race at that, and Damian had to work to keep his face neutral. Pennyworth had so casually exposed his moment of weakness, and now Grayson knew. Grayson knew, and Damian did not know how the man would respond. 

“Prompting hmm? I used to be prompted by Alfred all the time, you’ll get used to it.” Grayson’s smile returned at this. 

It was too much. The utter lack of...anything. Too much paired with all the unknowing and the uncertainty and the--everything. Every emotion Damian had tried to bury and shove away burst forward, like he had seen blood do when a blade drove through a body. Flowing and unstoppable, and in a flood far heavier than one expected.

“I do not know what you are playing at but, enough,” he snapped. 

Grayson actually took a step back at this. “Damian, what are you talking about?” 

He waved at Grayson and Pennyworth. “This, you. I failed.” The word tasted like his poisoned tea had.

And now, Grayson took a step forward, like if he were dancing with him. “Damian, I don’t think there’s anything for you to feel guilty of.” 

“Of course there is; need I spell it out for you? I fell asleep. You could have died.” 

“I mean, I’m glad you care, but, kiddo, falling asleep is understandable.” 

“Not when I am your partner!” Damian shouted, hands in fists at his side. 

Pennyworth moved to intervene. “Master Damian, please calm down. It is nothing to get so worked up over. You have had a number of long nights; it is my fault for keeping you up so often.” 

Damian shook his head, words lost again. They were not going to blame him. Not going to do anything. Or tell him anything or make any of this clear. 

Frustration was hot and sick in his chest. Like wanting to throw up; only, he wanted to scream as well. Scream and fight, and wear himself out until everything was gone and he was simply tired. 

“Dames--”

“No,” he snarled. “No, no, no. No nicknames or niceties or soft words. Do something!” he yelled and snapped at last, throwing himself at Grayson.

The man was surprised, catching Damian’s fist in one hand. Damian twisted away from him, darting to the side to charge again. He fought as much and as hard as he could, throwing punches that were dodged, kicks that missed by a mile, and flips that got him no closer to Grayson.

At last, Grayson caught another punch and didn’t let go. Instead, Damian found himself pulled forward and shifted until his back was pressed against Grayson’s chest, his arms wrapped tight around him. 

All the fight flooded out of him in that instant and Damian slumped forward, heaving sobs catching in his chest. He didn’t even know when he’d started crying. It had been too much. Too much fear and exhaustion and not knowing. 

Grayson pulled them both to the cold concrete. Damian wanted to turn, to bury his face in Grayson’s chest, but that was more weakness, and he’d fallen so far tonight. 

Instead, he cried until he’d worn himself out and his eyes felt dry, his chest hollow. He wanted--wanted---he wanted Mother. He wanted to know what to do, wanted the comforting knowledge of a Father there and alive, anchoring him. 

“I’m sorry.” Grayson murmured, “I’m sorry I can’t be him.” 

Had Damian spoken aloud?

“What do you want?” he asked instead. 

“Oh, Dames.” Grayson’s voice was sad. “I just want to help. To be whatever I can be.” 

Grayson’s grip loosened a bit, from a desperate hold to an almost cradle. “I haven’t been here as much as I should, and I’m sorry. I’ve been busy, but I should have made more time. Made sure you knew I meant it when I said I wanted you here.”

He sat there for a moment silent again, before Grayson spoke back up, “Damian?” 

“Yes?” 

“What do you want?” he asked, turning Damian’s question back on him.

“I--” Damian broke off, “I don’t know. I want--I want to know what to do.” 

The floodgates felt like they wanted to open again, but Damian was too tired, he hiccupped, “I don’t know the rules. I don’t know what you want.” 

“Oh, Dames” -- the nickname felt warm, like the hug Grayson held him in -- “does it bother you that much?” 

“Yes.” The word was a sob.

“Alright.” Grayson’s nod brushed against his hair. “Structure, Steph mentioned you needed it, and I was hoping you’d find it on your own, but, yes. Let’s talk? I’ll answer all your questions.” 

Grayson shifted, pulling away a bit to move around and face Damian before continuing, “First though, I need to shower, and you might like one to help soothe your nerves. You’re not in any trouble, ‘kay? So don’t go start assuming things.”

He hiccupped again, “Okay.” 

“Good. Then we’ll both meet up in the kitchen in twenty minutes for cocoa, alright?” 

Damian nodded. “Alright.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Damian have a chat, pick out a room, and do some shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, even with a bunch of this fic written I am once again terribly late to post. Life has been absolutely wild. Who knew graduate level classes would require graduate level (and amounts!) of work? I did, but somehow I always forget just how much time it all takes up. Anyway, please enjoy this small offering of what can only be described as tooth rotting fluff!

It was obvious, the moment Damian shuffled into the kitchen, that he’d gone from being upset to embarrassed. He wouldn’t meet Dick’s eye and the way he was glaring at his cocoa said leagues about what the shower had done for his mood. 

“Hey, I thought I told you not to blame yourself,” Dick chided, gently. 

Damian’s head shot up, eyes wide and bloodshot. “I--”

Dick grinned at him. “You might not have figured out everything about us yet, but I’m starting to understand you. It was easy enough to guess. Drink some cocoa, it’ll help you feel better.” 

His brother nodded and sipped at the drink, then blinked in surprise at it, before taking a longer sip. “It’s good,” he said, a little awe in his voice. 

It was then that Dick realized his little brother might not have tried cocoa yet. It was still too warm in Gotham for them to have the drink regularly. Which meant it was mostly reserved as a post-patrol treat. Something sweet and safe after a tough night. 

“It is.” Dick agreed, “Now let’s talk about what’s been bothering you.”

Damian’s admission earlier had squeezed Dick’s heart. He’d sounded scared and so worn out. Dick hadn’t realized how much stress Damian had been under not having the same rigid schedule he’d been used to before he came here, but it made so much sense. He’d gone from having his entire life directed by Ra’s or Talia, to all those strings cut loose. 

And Dick, the idiot he’d been, had thought that some lessons and time with other family members would fix that. Fix a life of training and fear and a life structured to the point even his sleep was scheduled. 

“It is what I said earlier,” Damian said, the smallest hint of red on his cheeks. 

“So, rules? And what I want then?”

“Yes.” There was some hope in his voice. “Mother--Everyone had a goal for me.” 

Dick sighed, “Damian, first of all, I need you to know I don’t have a ‘goal’ for you. Not in the same sense your mom does. I want you to be happy, whatever form that takes.” 

Damian’s lips twisted at that. “I do not understand.” 

“Okay, let me ask you again, what do you want? And not at this moment, but you, Damian, what do you want? Who do you want to be?” 

“Batman.” Damian said, automatically, “I want to be like Father. I want--I do not hate it here.” 

Dick smiled, “You’re a little young for Batman yet.”

“Then Robin, or whoever. Batman’s partner. I can be useful, far more so than that idiot Drake who keeps abandoning you.” 

He wondered if Damian knew how protective he was sounding. It was actually really cute. Not that Dick was going to say that to his face. He hummed, “I need you to wait a little longer on that one.” 

It wasn’t that Dick didn’t think Damian was capable. The kid was more ready to be Robin than any of them had been. He picked up on Dick’s training quickly, learned his lessons well, and once Dick got him talking had a ton of great ideas. But Dick wasn’t going to take him out yet, because he still had Tim.

He wanted to talk to Tim; he’d been thinking about it for a while, asking his brother if he’d mind Damian coming out with him. Tim was gone a lot these days, looking for Bruce, out with the Teen Titans, and spending time with friends inexplicably back from the dead. He was comfortable being able to come and go, and Dick wouldn’t tie him down. Everyone was finding their own way and he was happy for Tim.

But Dick was also desperate for some help. And Damian was right there, asking to go out. He was proud the boy hadn’t snuck out at all, shocked it hadn’t happened yet. He was also sure that if he didn’t get Damian out patrolling soon the kid would end up out in the city in some cobbled together costume and in danger. 

He just couldn’t, not yet. Dick needed Tim home long enough to start that conversation. 

Damian stared at him, and seemed to accept whatever he found in Dick’s eyes. “But, you will let me go out right? You promised.”

“Of course, I just need a little more time before we can get you out and about.” He let a finger slide along the handle of his mug, “Let’s talk about the other things bothering you. You said you like it here, but what do you need to feel like you belong?” 

Damian seemed taken aback at that, “I--I would like to pick a room. Cain told me everyone had that opportunity, but I was simply assigned one.” 

“I didn’t realize, Damian. I’m sorry. If I’d--I thought Alfred had taken care of that.” 

The boy shrugged. “He asked me if I was happy with my room, and at the time I did not feel I could say no.” 

“But you’re comfortable asking now.” Grayson smiled. “That’s good, I mean the situation isn’t but. Yeah. Tomorrow we’ll pick you out a spot, and go shopping for some decorations. No room is complete without some posters and books.” 

“And rules.” Damian added, “I--”

“You’re tired of walking on eggshells.” Dick nodded. “I’m sorry, I just made some assumptions and didn’t talk to you about them. So, how about this as a first rule, communication is key. If you’re wondering about something, ask. No question is stupid or will be frowned on.” 

Damian sipped at his cocoa. “That is acceptable.”

“No killing, obviously.” 

“Tt, I have already promised not to.” 

“Treat the others with respect, even Tim.” 

At that Damian rolled his eyes. 

Dick listed off a few other ‘house rules’ that should have been obvious, but with every one Damian seemed to relax more and more. Finally, he ran out of things to think of and let his words trail off before he sipped his own cooled drink. 

“I understand." Damian nodded, when Dick was finished, "I will endeavor to follow your directions." 

It wasn't a thank you, but it was pretty close. Just the total change from the Damian who'd been full of pent up stress down in the cave, and this one, relaxed and almost happy was enough of a thank you for Dick. He just had to remember too keep in mind that Damian needed this kind of structure, but also somehow find a balance in helping him feel free of rules like this. It would take time, time and patience, and Dick making sure they were communicating, but it would happen. He had faith. 

“Glad I could help.” Dick told him, chest warming, “One more thing, Damian.”

“Yes?” 

It was amazing how he still reacted like a startled deer. 

“We’re not going to punish you the way you might have been at the League. It’s mostly grounding or getting benched from patrol. And if you do ever do something worth grounding I won’t make you wait to figure out what it is. I’ll tell you right away, okay?”

His brother nodded. “Okay.”

“And,” Dick added, “It’s okay to ask if you think you’ve done something wrong. I know things are really different here, and some things don’t hold the same weight. I don’t want you to stew in confusion thinking you’ve made a mistake. Tell me, and I’ll explain why you’re right or wrong. There’s no punishment for questions.”

“Right.” Damian looked a little more comfortable, “I will try harder to ask when I am unclear about something.” 

After breakfast the next morning, Dick took Damian up to the hall where everyone else’s rooms were. He pointed out the rooms taken by various members of the family and the open ones. Damian explored each open room, slowly and meticulously. He did not seem to mind Dick trailing after him. 

For his part, Dick told whatever stories he could think of about the rooms. The hall was long, and there were still four empty rooms, all of which he’d gotten up to various antics in. Most had been hide and seek related, one involved a broken leg, and another he’d had the great idea to try his hand at painting in. He’d never told anyone about that adventure, and hid it well by moving the bed so that it covered the splotches of red, yellow, and orange paint he’d gotten all over the place. 

“Surely, Pennyworth found out,” Damian said, looking around the room in question.

Dick shrugged unsure himself. “Why don’t we check?” 

He dropped to his knees and lifted the bed skirt, then waved his phone, screen lit up, under it. The littlest spots of color could be seen on the wood. He pulled back and grinned. 

“No.” Damian’s voice was surprised, and apparently forgetting all airs of being prim and proper, as he too crouched to check under the bed. 

Dick turned on the flashlight function on his phone to better help Damian see, and the boy gasped.

“It’s our little secret now.” Dick said, when Damian had sat back up, “It’d be sad to spill the beans and see it cleaned up.”   


The boy nodded, considering. Then he stood and moved to the window, drawing back the curtains. “It overlooks the garden.” 

“That’s one of the reasons I tried to paint in here, thought I’d make Al a picture of his hard work.” 

“Do you paint?” Damian asked, looking at him curiously. He seemed oddly serious about the question, like this information was vital. 

Dick shrugged, “Not really. I tried just about everything as a kid, but I never had the patience to really sit and learn art beyond the basics.” Damian deflated a bit at that.

“Your dad though?” Dick continued, hoping to brighten the topic even as talking about Bruce still stung, “He could draw all kinds of things. He did a book once about Superman, and illustrated the whole thing. Remind me to find it for you one of these days.”

“I would like that.” Damian said, “I was not aware he was an artist.”

Dick hummed, “I don’t know if he did it as a hobby, but he was really skilled. I think he just liked being the best at everything.” he added with a chuckle. 

They left, and looked over the other rooms once again before Damian stood in the hallway, eyes scanning the doors. 

“That one,” he said, pointing to the paint room. “The view is the best.” 

And that was it. Together they gathered the few things Damian had in his old room and moved them to his new spot. It really wasn’t much, some clothes, books Dick knew were from upstairs, and the katana he had brought. Dick frowned at the utter lack of things. 

“How have you been here this long with just this?” 

Damian shrugged. “I had no need of much more.” 

Something on his face seemed to say that otherwise. Dick couldn’t quite place it, but he felt it in his gut. Damian was lying. He was getting to know the kid, and even if he didn’t know the root of the feeling, he knew it like he knew when Bruce would lie. 

“Really?” he asked. “No entertainment at all?” 

“Todd has kept me busy with books from the library.” Damian said, “And Brown’s presence is often entertainment enough. Cain helps as well, she likes to spar.” 

But none of that was what seemed to be missing. Toys, Dick knew, Damian wouldn’t want. Books they could collect, and knickknacks for the walls were on their list of things to pick up later, along with a proper desk and some new lamps. Maybe even a chest for him to keep things in. And some supplies for notes and-- _ drawings _ . 

Damian’s attention had drifted back to the garden, his fingers tapping at his thigh like they were full of energy, desire. A million little puzzle pieces fell together in Dick’s mind. The image of fingers dark with graphite, of little doodles left on sticky notes at the end of patrol, of Stephanie mentioning the only activity she’d had real luck with was coloring of all things. And of course, of Damian picking the room with the best view for an artist’s eye along with his earlier eagerness to learn about Bruce and Dick’s artistic endeavors. 

“Well, I think you need something more.” 

Damian turned to him, brow raised with curiosity. “Tt, I do not need to waste my time on trivial things, Grayson. This family is doing enough of that as it is.” 

“We’ll see about that. You just let me know how trivial it is when we get to the store.” 

“You are not going to tell me what it is?” Damian asked. 

Dick shook his head. “Nah, I think it’ll be better if it’s a surprise.”

He made Damian wait through all their other shopping activities and lunch, saving the art store for last. He remembered going there once with Bruce when he’d had a science project where he’d had to make a shadow box. It was supposed to feature a ‘chosen ecosystem’ and Dick had picked a cave full of bats. 

Bruce being Bruce hadn’t just wanted to buy cardboard and construction paper for the project, no, if they were going to do this they’d do it right. So they’d gone to this little art store, its shelves packed with specialty goods, and Dick had spent more money on a weekend’s project than he’d had on any school supplies ever. 

The memory of that day brought a smile to his face. Bruce hadn’t just shopped with him, but he’d helped him put together the shadowbox, and by the end it had almost been more Bruce’s project than Dick’s. 

When they stepped into the store, the smell of oil, paint, and wood for stretching canvases hit him like a ton of bricks and sent a pang of longing through his chest. He missed his dad. He wished it could be Bruce there with them, taking Damian. Both of them getting to see how the boy’s eyes lit up brighter than a Christmas tree. But it was just Dick now. Dick and Damian, and the rest of them. He hadn’t lost his whole family, and that was something to be thankful for. 

“Hi,” he said, moving to the counter to speak to the cashier there. “Do you guys have carts or maybe a handbasket? My brother’s going to be picking up a lot of stuff.” 

“Oh, yes,” the young lady said, smiling brightly. 

She reached below the counter and lifted out a bright red basket with the store’s name emblazoned on the side. “Is he taking classes?” 

“Nope, he’s just in dire need of a resupply trip,” he answered, taking the proffered basket and looping it around an arm. “Thanks!”

Damian, who was still standing at the front door gaping, turned his attention back on Dick when he returned, his eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

“How did you know?” he asked, voice so quiet Dick almost missed it. 

“World’s greatest detective, remember?” Dick answered, handing him the basket. “Now, you get anything you want, okay? Anything and everything.” 

Despite Dick’s assurance that Damian could get whatever, the boy was hesitant in his choosing of supplies. He picked up two sketchbooks of varying sizes, weighed his options, and returned one to the shelf. The same with pens, pencils, and inks. His eyes took in the shelves like a thirsty traveler, trapped too long in the desert only to find himself at a water park, but he did not take everything he wanted. 

Dick took note of the returned sketchbook, the paints and brushes Damian lingered on for ten minutes --seemingly without realizing he’d done so-- and slipped little extras into his basket where he could. A set of colored pencils, oil pastels Damian had held for a long moment before returning to the shelf, and even an eraser in the shape of a puppy. 

Still, even as hesitant as Damian was to go all out shopping, his whole being had softened during the experience. His expression stayed open, and shoulders relaxed. He even told Dick all about the supplies he was picking up, describing the differences between H and B written on pencils and the importance of papers of different weights and textures. 

It was obviously something he loved, one good thing he’d had, and Dick was going to make sure he could do as much of it as he wanted. 

The cashier who’d given Dick the basket talked animatedly with Damian while they checked out and handed him a flyer for a club meetup of other kids his age, all of them interested in art as a hobby instead of school requirement. He wondered if Damian would want to go.

Damian held onto the rather large bag of supplies like it was a grand treasure, and Dick supposed it was. He kept it in his lap as they drove home, and it was the first thing hauled upstairs and into his room when they started unloading things. 

It was obvious Damian wanted to start using his new supplies, so Dick suggested he help Damian finish decorating tomorrow and excused himself from his brother’s room with a knowing smile. 

“Grayson--” Damian called, just as Dick was about to close the door behind him.

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you. This has been a most acceptable day.” 

“Of course, Damian. We should do it again soon. I like hanging out somewhere that’s not a cave.” 

He left Damian to his exploration of art and told Alfred he was headed back out, his mind still running over all the supplies Damian hadn’t gotten. He wasn’t sure when he’d give them to the kid, but with the list of things fresh on his mind he wanted to have them, and then who knows. Maybe he’d just sneak them all into Damian’s room when he wasn’t looking. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes patrolling alone can go a little sideways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would think having a ton of this fic pre-written would mean a real regular posting schedule, but apparently it does not. Sorry for the delay on this you guys, I am going to do my best to keep up with weekly updates again.

For all that Dick was getting used to going out and patrolling alone, he also hated it. It made everything harder, not having someone to watch his back. He missed having a partner alongside him. Someone to talk to and to keep him chipper, and just someone to share the load. 

Dick was not looking forward to going out again tonight, not alone at least. His body ached from bruises that could have been avoided if he’d had a partner. Thankfully that ache was also easily washed away under the fondness growing in his chest when he spent time with Damian. 

He could feel that warmth again as he sat with Damian and sharpened batarangs as both preparation and part of the boy’s lesson. 

“Here,” he said, hiding a smile as Damian seemed unsure just how to get a fine edge on the inner curved part. 

Damian leaned back, silently giving Dick permission to help. Dick took it, and reached out to adjust Damian’s grip, and the angle he was holding the batarang at. 

“Like this, see now the stone can catch this part. And if you move it like this, you can get the whole thing in one fluid motion.” he eased Damian’s hands forward and then tilted them, and the batarang, amazed that the kid was letting him be this close. 

They’d been growing in leaps and bounds. Not just since Dick had taken Damian out, but that had helped a lot. The kid was starting to open up and act like he understood he had a place in the house, and even leaning into it. 

Dick enjoyed spending time with him. Even if everyone else still remarked on Damian’s prickly nature, Dick had learned to look past it, and see the ten year old beneath. It took patience, and some coaxing, but he was getting better at teasing smiles out of Damian and getting him to talk about his interests. 

He’d almost made Dick late for a meeting the other morning at breakfast as he’d chattered about his progress with one of the Batmobiles. He was modifying it based on some of Bruce’s old designs and promised he’d have it flying by the end of the week. All it had taken to get him to open up and talk were a few questions, and appropriate responses. Even if Damian didn’t realize it, he was all kid on the inside. 

When Dick left for patrol, his mind was still on Damian. Specifically Damian joining him on patrol. His youngest sibling was ready to go out, but Dick hadn’t seen Tim for long enough yet to talk to him. His brother was supposed to be getting back from another trip abroad hunting for Bruce this week. Dick decided once Tim had settled in he’d sit him down and gently suggest the idea of two Robins. 

He’d tried to come up with something that wasn’t Robin for Damian, but every time Dick found himself doodling himself and Damian it was in a Robin uniform. Even Flamebird just didn’t feel right without Nightwing to accompany him, and right now Dick was Batman. Robin was the uniform that felt right. Batman and Robin was how it had always been, and Dick’s brain couldn’t shake the image. But Tim was Robin, and Dick had promised him he could stay that way. He didn’t want to make Tim change either, not if his brother was content in his role. 

Except, Tim was rarely in town long enough to help these days. Which was the whole problem. So, two Robins. There could be two, just as there were often two of many other heroes. He just had to make sure Tim was on board, and didn’t feel like he was trying to replace him. 

He shook off the thoughts, and turned instead to Gotham proper, his ears pricked for Damian’s voice in case his brother needed to alert him of anything odd. The night had been relatively quiet so far and Dick was hoping it’d stay that way. 

Alfred had fully relinquished the comms to Damian by now, and Dick was getting used to the kid’s voice in his ear. He was a whole different kind of communicator than Alfred or Barbara or any of them were. It took some translating to get “you idiot” to mean “I’m worried about you” but Dick was getting pretty good at it. 

“Grayson, there is something strange that Batman needs to check out.” Damian said, getting his attention. 

His voice sounded odd, a bit confused, perhaps about whatever this ‘strange’ thing was. It was early in the night, only ten o’clock and in Dick’s opinion things didn’t really start getting weird until midnight. It was strange to have an actual incident right now. Still, weirder things had happened. Like that time Nygma had lit up a giant question mark on top of one of the colleges for no reason but to terrify students before finals week. 

“What’s up?”

“There are a number of reports of people not coming home tonight. People who left hours ago and were apparently supposed to return rather quickly.” 

“Okay, people stay out late, and sometimes families get overprotective.” Dick said. 

“Yes, but these reports are disproportionate to the normal rate. Plus, all of these people were either going to or last seen downtown. There are a number of specific statements about them going to see a “new pop up show” I cannot help but remember that strange statue we saw a while back. That area is relatively close to the one in question.” 

“Alright, I’ll go check it out, did you see if Oracle had any other information?” 

“She is looking into it as we speak.” Damian responded. 

Dick’s heart bloomed with pride. He had needed to prod Damian to ask Barbara for assistance at first, but it seemed like he was getting this whole ‘teamwork’ thing at last. 

“Good, heading over now. Keep me updated.” 

It did not take Dick long to find the pop up show. He perched on a nearby rooftop and zoomed his cowl lenses in to get a good look at the brightly lit and colored building that seemed to be attracting a number of people. 

A recently vacated storefront had gone from being grey and empty with signs threatening legal ramifications against trespassers to something bright and colorful. The sign above it was ringed by flashing lights and painted in red, yellow, and blue letters and read: Dreamland. Music poured from the building, though from here Dick couldn’t quite make out what beyond the rhythm he was familiar with. The store’s windows were filled with what looked like toys. 

Dick watched as someone walked up and stopped to read something posted on the front door. After a moment they shot off a quick text and moved in. 

“It looks like a toy store of some kind, called Dreamland.” Dick said, updating Damian, “I’m going to send you the exact address. Get me any info you can on them, I’m going to keep an eye on the front.” he typed it out on a keyboard on his glove even as he was speaking and sent it to Damian. 

“Strange, no one said anything about shopping.” Damian said, sounding distracted. 

Dick guessed he was already inputting the name into the computer to pull up the business’s information. He waited ten minutes and saw a couple go in, and another two individuals. No one came out. Ten minutes wasn’t long, but for a store that seemed as apparently busy as this one was, someone should have left in the time he’d been watching. 

All the while he was waiting, he kept an ear on Damian who’d gone very quiet beyond a “hmm” and “what?” here or there. At last, the boy spoke directly to him, confirming Dick’s suspicions. 

“No company named Dreamland has been registered in Gotham in the last six months, and the building in question is still listed as unoccupied and up for rent.” Damian said, “Do you think it is one of Batman’s Rogues?” 

Dick hummed, “Not yet, Hatter might go for something called Dreamland, but I can't think of many others who’d pick such a childish theme. No this might just really be an illegal one night pop up, or something else. I’m going to go in, check it out. Send me the building’s blueprints?” 

“Give me a moment.”

While Damian was sending him the blueprints, Dick dropped quietly from his rooftop and crept up to the door to read the sign that had stopped everyone who’d gone in. This close he could clearly hear the music, and he snorted. The speakers were blaring the Spice Girls. 

He couldn’t see inside at all. The door was solid wood, and displays in the windows all had full backdrops that kept Dick from seeing into the store proper. The sign was prominent enough on the door though and read:

“Relive your childhood in a Wonderland of games, toys, and memories as you explore this pop up exhibition featuring an assortment of games from the 90s! Join us for this one night exhibition for free!” 

That explained the music, and the fact that people seemed to be pouring in at 10 pm on a Friday night. Any bored or curious passerby with a little time to kill was sure to head in and see a recreation of old games. Dick himself would probably have gone in just for fun if he’d been out with the gang. He knew Wally and Donna would get a kick out of something like this. He even pictured himself taking Damian in to show him some of the old games he’d played. 

His vision flickered as his cowl received the blueprints. Dick slipped away from the front and into the alleyway beside the building, tapping at controls to see the schematics.

“Thanks, Lil’ D.” 

“If you are to give me a code name, it will not be that one.” 

“It’s a nickname then.” Dick said, turning off the overlay of the building.

He didn’t want to just stroll in through the front door. Dreamland might turn out to be a real one night only display, but if it wasn’t Dick didn’t think Batman walking in through the front was the way to handle things. 

The building was mostly open concept, with one huge main room and then a few back offices. It was no wonder someone picked this space to set up an exhibit. It did make it hard to sneak in, but Dick spotted a skylight on the schematics, trained right above the main room. 

“No.” Damian was still refusing the nickname, “It highlights my lack of height, and I will not have you making fun of it every time you address me.”

Dick chuckled, “We’ll workshop it then. You’re getting a nickname or three no matter how you feel about it.” 

He took the fire-escape up to the roof, and padded along until he reached the skylight. It was latched tight, but he could see inside. 

It actually looked really cool. There were a number of stations set up that featured old video games, Dick could see a Dreamcast and a Nintendo console hooked up to huge box televisions. Additionally, there were an assortment of outdoor games. There was a swingset, a hacky sack game, a jump rope, and even a hopscotch game scribbled into the ground. Each one was set on a path, cordoned off by blue tape on the ground. It looked like you were supposed to follow it from the door to the back of the room, then back out. 

Despite how it looked there was something very wrong going on inside. The unfortunate attendees looked at the very least highly uncomfortable. Here or there someone wearing a mask featuring an old cartoon character directed people through the lines. They weren’t holding weapons, and beyond the masks didn’t look threatening, but it wasn’t normal. 

From his vantage point, Dick couldn’t see the front doors from where he was, but he had a feeling they were blocked. 

“Alright, new plan. I’m going to cut the power and then drop in on them.” 

“What is going on?” Damian asked. 

“It doesn’t really look like anyone’s still inside of their own free will, and--oh my.” Dick stopped talking as he watched someone miss bouncing what he’d thought was a hacky sack. It landed on the floor and exploded in a puff of light, confetti and something that made the player jerk back.

“Batman, what is going on?” Damian asked again, his tone worried. 

“The games seemed rigged to, maybe blow up when someone messes up? Or I don’t know, do something not great. I don’t care to sit here and find out, I need to get in and help.” 

He unlocked the skylight first, counted the number of masked individuals. There were five in total. After, he moved to the edge of the roof to drop back down. 

He hopped off at the back of the building where he knew a fusebox was located. He could have dropped a smoke bomb inside, but that would put the civilians inside in more danger. Still, dropping in and giving the masked people a clear view of Batman as a target was also a bad idea. So, he would switch off the power. It might even turn off some of the games and if the door was electronically locked fix that problem too. 

Dick found the box easily. As he opened it up he wished that he had a partner to turn off the power while he dropped in simultaneously. But he didn’t so he’d just have to be fast. 

Quickly, he flipped every switch off, shoved the door closed, and jabbed at the lock with one of the sharp ends of his gauntlets, jamming it. Hopefully that would keep anyone from getting the lights back on too soon. 

Then he was back up, onto the roof and flinging the glass back to dive into the room, alive with noise and confusion now that the lights had gone out. Dick flicked on his night vision and started systematically moving through the crowds and knocking out masked goons. 

He’d made it through four of the five when phone flashlights started to go on, and Dick’s cover was blown as he heard cries of, “Batman!” and “Batman’s here!” “He came to help!” fill the room. 

This started another flurry of people as they crowded around him, a cacophony of voices trying to explain the situation, beg him to get them out of there, or just simply yelling for help. Dick did his best not to hurt anyone as he pushed and shoved through the crowd. Before he was even free, the lights came back on, and music started again, blaring the Backstreet Boys. 

For a moment Dick was sure the fifth masked person had been the one to turn the lights on, then Dick spotted him in a Pikachu mask, standing guard at the front door. One last obstacle to Dick getting everyone out of there.

He saw Dick at the same time Dick saw him and charged forward. In that moment, he dearly wished he had his escarmas simply for their reach. As it was, he flung three batarangs at the guy, catching an arm and leg with one of each. 

It did little to slow his charge, and Dick had to throw himself out of the way. He rolled right into the hacky sack game, and scooped up a handful before spinning on a heel and standing. The goon had turned himself at this point and was gearing up to charge again. 

Dick charged this time, and started throwing the hacky sacks at the guy, hoping they’d pop as a distraction. They did, each one exploding in a puff of sound, confetti, and with the sharp scent of cheap fireworks. 

It gave him the opening he needed to tackle the man, and get in a good hit to his temple, knocking him out. 

When he stood, he realized that someone had wrenched open the front doors and the terrorized civilians had started running out. Good, less corralling he’d have to do. He directed anyone else still gawking to leave, and left the unconscious men to check the back rooms, to see if he could find whoever was in charge. 

Before he even reached the door, the music cut off and Dick could hear the sound of something quietly beeping. The only thing he could imagine making that sound was a bomb. 

He abandoned his quest to search the back, and started hauling unconscious thugs out the front door. He’d gotten the last one out and was doing one final check for any remaining people when the world around him exploded and the ceiling started to fall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last thing! I love chatting with people who love the batfam, and if you do too and are of the age 18 or older you are cordially invited to join a [Batfamily 18+ discord](https://discord.gg/w5NftDGnWM) server! It's super chill, friendly, and of course Batfam centric. It belongs to SelkieNight60 (who is amazing and wonderful, and just the best). Currently Robins are outnumbered, so come join us!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most thanks to Eileen (aka dreamer-247re) for creating the absolutely stunning art for this chapter! I couldn't have asked for a better piece to go with this one and I still just adore it every time I see it.

The moment Grayson dropped into the building the connection to his comm went silent, and nothing Damian tried could get it to turn back on. He suspected some kind of interference, if people had been trapped in that building for hours, something was blocking their phone signals, and that same something was probably interrupting their comm line as well. Not that either of them had thought of that before Grayson entered.

A stupid miscalculation on Damian's part. One he would not repeat again. 

Damian found an external camera he could hack, and caught sight of a hooded figure whose shape was roughly the same as that of one of the people who had set up the strange twister game. The person was fiddling with something blocky that Damian couldn’t quite make out, before pressing it to the side of the building. 

Could it be a bomb? A listening device of some sort? He wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t hail Grayson. But, perhaps he could send backup Batman’s way. 

“Oracle, I need your assistance.” 

“Hey Lil’ D, what’s up?” Gordon asked, sounding far too bright for this hour, and curious. 

He ignored the outrageous nickname usage, “Are the Birds close to the downtown shopping district?” 

“Batgirl and Black Bat are currently stowed away on a ship, getting ready to turn it around. Why?” 

“Tt, Batman is in need of backup. There are unknown hostiles approaching him and a possible bomb threat, but I cannot contact him.” 

“I’ll give it a shot on my end. Is Tim home yet? Can he head out?” 

Damian ground his teeth. No his brother, and Grayson’s supposed partner, had not returned yet. If he had, he had not made it known to any of them. There was no one to back Batman up. No one but Damian himself. 

He shoved aside all thoughts of possible punishment for going out without permission, and pushed his chair away from the desk. 

“No. He is not.” Damian stood, “It seems it is up to me to handle the situation. Oracle, stay on this line so that when Pennyworth comes down you can inform him of the situation.” 

He looked down at himself and frowned. He was wearing a brightly colored shirt Pennyworth had purchased him, featuring a cartoon dog on the front. There was no way he could rescue Batman in that. 

He hurried to the lockers and grabbed the first dark thing he could find, a black hoodie. It turned out to not be solid, but had a Nightwing emblem splashed across the front. The sleeves were also too long, but Damian easily rolled those up, before tugging the hood over his hair. Then he grabbed an extra domino mask and affixed it to his face. Lastly, he grabbed one of Drake’s Robin belts. Grayson had made Damian take inventory of the belt a number of times to get familiar with its contents, and he was confident it was small enough to fit him. It also would have medical supplies and weapons to defend himself if the situation called for it. He didn’t bother changing out of his black jeans or tennis shoes, both would do fine for the rescue mission. 

Through his quick change, he ignored Oracle’s requests for more information, and demands that he stay right there and send Alfred instead. Damian respected Pennyworth, but he didn’t want to waste time. 

Besides, this was partially his fault, and he was the only one who really knew how to fly the Batmobile. It would be the fastest way to reach Grayson. 

Damian was quite proud of his achievement. After growing bored of exploring the cave systems, and discovered some of Father’s schematics and future plans to make his car fly and had taken to making those plans a reality. He had even gotten permission to work on it. Grayson had happily supplied not only permission, but any supplies he needed when Damian had asked. He was further encouraged by the fact that the man had come downstairs to sit with him a few times. However, it was Damian's project and he was most familiar with the systems. He had not even had time to tell anyone that he’d actually managed to get it to fly. 

Gordon must have called Pennyworth, because Damian spotted the man hurrying down the stairs as he climbed into the car.

“Master Damian, wait!” he called. 

Damian ignored the request, closing the door, and starting the engine. He felt a little bad for ignoring Pennyworth, but time was of the essence and he needed to get to Grayson. He hoped Pennyworth would not be too upset with him as he raced past the man and out the exit, but he would have to understand just how important this was. There was no time left to dally if he were to stop something bad from happening to the man he was beginning to consider family.

A few meters out of the cave, Damian hit the button to begin the car’s flying sequence. After a brief moment of panic that it would not work, slowly but surely it lifted off, and Damian's shoulders relaxed minutely. Soon he was zooming over trees and streets, and obstacles that would have cut into the time it took to get to Grayson’s location. 

He fretted as he flew, his mind coming up with every terrible thing that could happen, his stomach growing sicker at each thought. Most of all, he couldn't stop thinking about _why_ he was betraying every house rule to rush out and save Grayson. 

When had he really started to care about him? When had it become more than his just using the man to learn more about his Father? He’d come to respect Grayson quickly, that was certain. But this sick feeling of worry was one Damian had only held for his mother on the rare occasion she was late returning from a dangerous mission. 

Damian tolerated Brown and Todd and Cain, but Grayson? He looked forward to seeing the man. Had come to enjoy his smiles, and even put up with his nicknames. They were warm, like a blanket wrapped around his shoulders when he was tired, or a coat on a cold day. 

It was stupid. And weak. And foolish. Feelings like this were compromising, they would get him killed. Make him run headlong into danger without a thought for himself, much like he was doing now. But Damian found he didn’t care about being weak in that sense. It hurt to imagine _not_ caring about Grayson. And so he fretted. He fretted and worried and ignored the pinging of a message from Oracle. 

That sick feeling in Damian’s chest exploded into awful panic as Main Street finally came into view and he caught sight of what used to be Wonderland, now a smoking wreck, collapsed in on itself. 

He held his emotions in check long enough to take the car down, right onto the street and bolt out of it. 

[ ](https://dreamer-247re.tumblr.com/post/631286180188651520/with-a-heart-of-scars-chapter-1)

“Batman!” he yelled, bolting for the wreckage “Where are you?” 

Damian should not be panicking. Panic made one miss things, it made them sloppy. But Batman had been in the building. It had blown up. He could be--Grayson might be--

No. Grayson would be fine. Damian would find him, and get him home, and he would be fine. 

He scanned the rubble of the building, and yelled for Batman again, his voice raspy in the smoke billowing around. Belatedly he remembered the domino was equipped with some basic alternate vision options, Damian poked at it until it showed heat signatures. 

It didn’t look like the building had caught fire, thank goodness, but there was a large area of warmth towards where the back would have been that radiated out into other areas. 

“Batman!” he called again, vision slowly creeping across rubble. 

He had no idea how deep the lenses would penetrate. Some parts of the rubble were raised higher than others, like they’d all fallen in that direction, while others were spars, bits and pieces here and there still showing the floor that had once been inside.

“Here.” the word was faint, and trailing at the end, but it gave Damian hope. 

He jerked his attention towards the sound, and there! A figure, the heat registering as cooler than Damian wanted it to be, but that could have been the weather or injury or just rubble blocking it. Whatever it was, he bolted in it’s direction, only turning off the filter when he was close enough to clearly see Batman. 

He was on his back, partially trapped under fallen drywall. Damian had missed him on his first glance due to the drywall’s angle, tilted up and slightly against Grayson to block him from proper view. 

“Batman!” He called again, and started climbing over the rubble as carefully as he could without risking dislodging something and shifting the whole pile, “I am on my way.” 

His heart was racing. He was terrified, he realized. Afraid of what he’d find. Afraid of what had happened. Afraid to be too late, even now. 

When he reached Batman, he dropped to his knees to examine him. The most obvious injury was the blood that seeped out from under his cowl. Everything else was hidden under the fallen drywall.

“Batman, I am going to have to lift this, brace yourself.” he said. 

“Nightwing?” Grayson asked, the word slurring, “What?”

Damian looked down at his hoodie and the Nightwing emblem emblazoned on it, “Oh. No, you idiot. It is me. Now hold still while I lift this.”

He leaned forward, and gripped the drywall to lift it. It was lighter than Damian imagined it to be, but still quite heavy. When he got it up high enough, he shifted to shove his shoulder under it to help him leverage it even higher and then away, angled just far enough that his brother’s body was revealed. 

“Scoot back.” Damian grunted.

Thankfully, Grayson seemed to have enough sense to listen. He dragged himself back from Damian and the drywall, moving just far enough that after a moment, Damian let the whole thing drop again with a crash. 

His shoulder ached, but he had more important things to worry about than it. He quickly examined Batman, the suit on Grayson’s right thigh had been torn open by something, and his leg was slowly oozing blood. The wound did not seem to be serious enough for Damian to stop and take care of it now, so instead he focused on getting the man home for a full check up and proper medical attention. 

He leaned over to take Grayson by the arm, “Come, we are leaving.” 

He hauled his brother up onto unsteady legs. Grayson stood for a few seconds before slumping. He would have fallen if Damian hadn’t caught him, still the man was much taller than him, and carrying him was going to be difficult. 

“This is not going to be comfortable, Batman.” Damian said, “But we will make it work.” 

He tugged one of Grayson’s arms over his shoulder, and gripped the back of Batman's utility belt as tightly as he could under the cape to help hoist him up, and then started forward. He was basically dragging Grayson as they moved, and because of that he could not be as careful moving across the rubble. Thankfully, he was not worried about further crushing his brother, so the only real obstacle was tripping or dislodging something so that he fell into a hole. 

Grayson seemed to come a bit back to himself, at least enough to speak, “But _I’m_ Nightwing?” 

Damian shook his head, “No, as I explained, you are Batman, I am--” he dreaded having to use the nickname, “Lil’ D.”

His brother shook his head, “No, no, I’m Nightwing. Batman is--Bruce is--”

“Grayson, Father is-- he is gone.” Damian said, “You are Batman now.” 

That was the wrong thing to say because it made Grayson try to pull away from his grip. He was confused, and hurting, which added some strength to his attempts and threatened to topple them both. 

“No!” Grayson cried, “I don’t want to be Batman. I never-- I don’t have to because Bruce _is_.” 

His attempts to get away from Damian finally succeeded in making Damian slip, a stone dislodged from under his foot, and then the ground disappeared and Damian fell down, then to the side. He lost his grip on Grayson, and landed hard on his already aching shoulder. 

Behind him, he heard rumbling as the structure shifted. He felt the vibrations under his palms as he pushed himself up, to spin and search for his brother. 

Grayson had landed on his knees, and was staring down at the bat on his chest, one hand brushing over it.

“Father is dead, Grayson.” Damian snapped, as he stepped over to lift Grayson again. 

“That is why you are Batman, now act like it and pull yourself together for a moment.” 

Normally, he would not have cared about being so brusque, but even with the cowl covering most of his face the effect of Damian’s words on Grayson was obvious. He looked like a kicked puppy. It twisted Damian’s heart, but he couldn’t waste time on feelings. He needed to get Grayson home, first and foremost. Then worry about the hurt his words caused. 

He managed to drag Grayson off the rubble and back to the car. It took some work to get him settled in the passenger’s seat, but Grayson had stopped fighting him, and was mostly responsive to directions.

It did not take long for Grayson to pass out once they were moving. Damian tried to wake him, but there was no autopilot function build into the flying portion of the car yet --he had that on his list of activities for next week-- so he had to focus on getting them home, and hoping that Grayson would be fine. 

He did phone the Batcave to update Pennyworth on their status. The butler’s anger was quickly set aside for worry, and a flood of questions about Grayson’s condition. Damian did his best to describe it, and estimate an arrival time. 

Pennyworth took over when Damian finally parked. He went from being in command of the situation to following whatever directions were aimed at him, and he did so happily. Grayson had woken again when they moved him from the car, and was now babbling about Father. He was alternating between asking where he was and crying over losing him. 

The guilt Damian had been able to ignore earlier came back at those words, and he felt terrible for snapping at his brother. He felt even worse that he could not seem to muster any grief over his father. Not in the same way Grayson was feeling it now. He was too concerned about his brother. His not quite partner who he’d almost lost tonight. Who had been out because of a Father who was not there. Who was alone because of a father Drake was still searching for. Who was now crying out for that same father. 

He did his best to ignore the strange twist of emotions in his chest and help Pennyworth instead. He collected blankets, lifted Grayson’s head, and handed over bandages as they were requested. 

Damian finally stopped moving when Grayson was at last sleeping and settled into a medical cot. He could not leave Grayson, no matter how conflicted looking at the man made him. So Damian settled in a chair and declared he’d keep an eye on him while Pennyworth got some rest. 

He tugged his legs up, onto the chair, so he could wrap his arms around them, and rested his chin on his knees. Somewhere in all the chaos, the sleeves of his borrowed hoodie had slipped down, and fallen over his hands to flop. Damian didn’t bother re-rolling them, but instead enjoyed the way they gave him a feeling of being further wrapped up, snuggled in something tight and comforting.

Sitting there, his odd feelings from earlier returned. He called them odd because he had not had time to pick at the strange ball of emotion in his chest and sort out what it all meant. 

There was irritation with himself over this attachment. He could hear mother’s voice in his head, chiding him and reminding him that love was a weakness. That caring about others only held one back. She was right of course, Damian had thrown all caution to the wind, disobeyed Pennyworth, and Oracle and run headlong after Grayson over a hunch. It had been correct, but even that was neither here nor there in consideration of the danger it had posed. 

The caring itself was another factor Damian turned over in his head, like he had turned the batarangs Grayson had shown him how to sharpen in his hands. Love, or at the very least, like, was dangerous. It was sharp, like the ends of the batarang, and would cut him if he was not careful, but it was also warm, like Grayson’s words had been. Gentle like his hands had felt in adjusting Damian’s grip. Something soft and happy like Damian’s heart had felt at Grayson’s praise. 

Damian looked back down at his brother. Grayson’s arms were laid out on top of the light blanket covering him. One hand was already showing bruising, ugly black and blue splotches where he must have raised them in defense. The bruises flowed down his forearm, and ended in a bullseye on his elbow. It made Damian wince just imagining it.

He released his hold on his legs and brushed a hand across the back of Grayson's palm, considering taking it in his own. Then the man groaned, and shifted, his hand slipping away from Damian's feather light grasp. He swallowed, and wrapped his arm back around his legs to grab his other hand, before resting his chin on his knees to continue his vigil. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thanks so much Eileen for the art for this chapter <3 its stunning!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little of Dick, and a little of Steph's POVs in this one.

Dick woke to a splitting headache. 

He blinked up at the roof of the cave and wondered how he’d gotten there. The last thing he really remembered was the building coming down around him. So, who had gotten him home? 

“Grayson? Are you awake at last?” a small voice asked from beside him. 

Dick turned his head and saw Damian, curled up in a chair, hands wrapped around his legs, wearing a Nightwing hoodie of all things. 

“Dames?” 

The boy scowled, “Tt, I see you finally recognize me. Perhaps you did not lose all your sense when you allowed a building to fall on you.” 

At that, Dick remembered his rescue. The image of Nightwing’s symbol the only clear thing on Damian’s then blurred figure, his terrified tone, and unrelenting grip as he dragged Dick to safety. He swallowed, at the memory of being lost in grief over Bruce, and wondered how much he’d admitted out loud. 

“Hope I didn’t worry you too much.” 

Damian rolled his eyes and laid his head back down on his knees, facing away from Dick, which Dick took as “yes, you did worry me.” He wouldn’t have needed the eye roll to know that. Damian had come after him, hardly dressed to be on patrol with little more than a domino and utility belt to help him, and was here sitting by his bed. Yeah, the kid was upset. 

“Drake should have been there.” Damian mumbled, voice muffled due to one cheek being squished against a knee. 

Dick pushed himself up so he was sitting, his chest twinged at that, but wasn’t nearly as painful as it might have been. His legs, however, were not pleased with the movement, and Dick winced at the sharp pain in his thighs. 

“It’s not like he bailed, Damian. I planned to go out on my own.” 

The boy squeezed his legs tighter, “He failed in his duty as Robin.” 

“Batman used to go out all the time without Robin. I mean, when I was growing up I only went with Bruce on the weekends for the longest time. A partner is not a requirement, Dames.” 

“He has not been a partner though, has he?” Damian asked, raising his head suddenly to level a serious look at Dick, “He has hardly been here for weeks, he left Batman at one of his most crucial times, while you were getting used to the cowl, and now because no one was by your side you almost--” he broke off, swallowing whatever he was going to say, “a building crashed down on you. It is not a question of what Batman has done in the past, but what he needs now.” 

He dropped his legs to the ground, and balled his hands on his thighs, “You need a partner, Robin or not. This is a different Gotham than Father’s, if only because you are a different type of Batman.” 

Dick was surprised that Damian didn’t tag on a jab at his skills as Batman as he’d done regularly. He expected to be told that he needed a partner because he wasn’t good enough to be Batman. What he had not expected was a heartfelt --for Damian-- speech about Dick needing to be safe. 

He leaned forward and took one of Damian’s hands in his own, Damian hadn’t released his fist, so Dick ran this thumb over the top of his hand, “I’m sorry I made you worry. Thank you for looking out for me no matter what, and thank you for being so patient with me while we sort things out.” 

He wanted to tell Damian he’d been thinking the same thing, and how much he wanted to bring him out as his partner, but he bit back those sentiments. He still needed to talk to Tim. 

“I’ll talk to Tim when he’s back, see if he can stick around a little longer or something.” 

Damian pulled his hand out of Dick’s and stood, “Good.” the word was clipped, “Let us hope he decides to stick around long enough to keep you alive this time.” 

“Are you leaving?” Dick asked, frowning at him. 

He hesitated, “I was going to get Pennyworth and let him know you were awake.”

Dick reached his hand out again, “Stay for a bit longer? You haven’t even told me just how much damage the building did to me.” 

Damian sighed, and flopped back down into the chair, “You are surprisingly indestructible. Between your armor and pure luck you only need contend with a concussion, some heavy bruising, and mild lacerations to your thigh.”

“I’m sure Alfred will insist I stay in bed for a week.” 

His brother shrugged, “He mentioned something of the sort. Brown and Cain have also agreed to look into the explosion while you are incapacitated. They would have gone after I returned with you, but by then emergency crews had arrived on the scene."

He wrinkled his nose, which made Dick raise an eyebrow. 

"It took far too long to rally any kind of emergency response. Considering the time it took me to arrive and find you, firetrucks should have been swarming the area. It is as if something had delayed the signal."

"We'll have to look into that too then." Dick hummed.

He was about to ask Damian for more details, when the sound of a bike roaring came into the cave. Both Dick and Damian looked to see who was arriving. Robin's Redbird bike pulled in, and Tim was just turning it off. 

“Damian, don’t start a fight, okay?” 

“Tt. I will go get Pennyworth.”

This time, when Damian stood Dick did not stop him from walking away. He hated it, but the kid was dealing with a lot of emotions right now, and one of those was profound anger at Tim, maybe not Tim himself, but the fact that Dick had gotten hurt without Tim there. It was understandable, and Dick was willing to let him go and cool off a bit. Something told him that the longer he and Damian spent together, the more likely he'd become just about as overprotective as Bruce could be. 

Dick shook his head, and put on a smile for Tim. 

* * *

A light, angry, set of stomping feet preceded Damian’s entry to the kitchen. The sound was enough to alert Stephanie of the kid’s mood. She eyed Cass who nodded, having also picked up Damian’s emotional state even before seeing him.  It wasn’t like it was a hard guess. Beyond Cass, the kid was the only one who was still small enough to make a sound that light while also stomping, and Dick was downstairs hurt on a gurney. One plus one equals two, or in this case injured mentor plus stomping feet equaled an upset Damian. 

The boy stopped short at the door to the kitchen, his face a veritable movie of emotions as he flipped from deep concentration to surprise, irritation, and at last settled on mild annoyance. 

“Brown. Cain.” he said, by way of greeting.

“Hey.” Steph said. 

Cass waved, and said, “Cocoa is on the stove.” 

Both of them waited for Damian to pour himself a mug of the still warm hot chocolate, and settle on a stool across from them at the island.

“So, what’s the news? Did Dick wake up at last?” Stephanie asked him. 

Damian scowled down at his drink, “Yes, the fool is awake.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, Damian wasn’t usually so grumpy when he talked about Dick. At least not anymore, especially since they’d gone out and bought all those art supplies. A genius stroke on Dick’s part, one she’d been planning to make him take if he hadn’t caught on sooner or later. Really, the kid screamed artist.

“What did he do to earn your ire?” 

The boy tsked at her and sipped at his cocoa. 

“We are not mind readers, Little Brother.” Cass said, gently. 

Damian huffed, and looked up, “Drake has returned.” 

Ah. That made sense. Steph stifled a smile, Damian’s little rivalry with Tim was pretty one sided, and while it had originally be born out of a need to fit in, it was obvious now it was about Dick’s attention. 

“He’s been away a while, I’m sure Dick missed him.” 

“Tt. That is not why I am upset.” 

“Because Dick got hurt?” Cass asked, though they all knew it was the truth. 

The boy squirmed in his chair, his scowl deepening. 

“It’s pretty obvious.” Steph said. 

“You two are insufferable.” Damian declared and took a large sip of his hot chocolate.

Now Stephanie did let herself laugh, “You know, if you gave Tim a chance I bet you’d find him as ‘tolerable’ as you find the rest of us lately.”

Damian tilted his head back, adding an air of superiority to him, even as he sat there in a hoodie too big for him, cupping hot chocolate in a Superman mug, “If he were here more often, then perhaps I could.” 

“That, I can't fault.” Steph said, “But I won’t judge him for his actions either.” 

“How is Dick?” Cass asked, changing the conversation. 

Damian looked relieved he didn’t have to answer any more questions about his ‘rival’ and tapped a finger on the side of his mug. 

“He is surprisingly well, and in far too good a mood for a man who had a building fall on him.” 

There was something fond about Damian’s tone, even if he meant it to be dismissive. Steph was oh so tempted to tease him, but held off. 

“Good.” she said, shifting in her chair, “Hey, what do you say to a trip to the park tomorrow? I need to get out and get some fresh air that’s not tinged with doom, gloom, and nighttime, and you told me you were bored of painting Alfred’s garden. A change of scenery would be fun.”

“You are trying to ensure I do not start a fight with Drake.” 

Steph dropped her mouth open in an imitation of surprise, “Me? Never. I just thought you might want a change of scenery, and --since you’re ten and most certainty grounded from being alone in any kind of vehicle after tonight-- might need a ride.” 

Damian groaned, “Pennyworth told you?” 

She grinned, “A good deed does not go unpunished.” 

The kid glared at her for a moment before nodding, “Fine, but I will not go to the last park we visited. The duck pond had no ducks at all.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are doing well. There's been a lot going on in my home lately from freezes to an over abundances of homework, and all kinds of stuff in between, and it's kept me busy in one way or another. But after a week to bounce back I'm trying to find a groove that balances writing and classwork again. Stay safe, and happy out there <3
> 
> One last thing! I love chatting with people who love the batfam, and if you do too and are of the age 18 or older you are cordially invited to join a [Batfamily 18+ discord](https://discord.gg/w5NftDGnWM) server! It's super chill, friendly, and of course Batfam centric. It belongs to SelkieNight60 (who is amazing and wonderful, and just the best). Currently Robins are outnumbered, so come join us!


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